Swami Sivananda words
vaguely remembered as I walk
with a tired brain into wilderness
until blocked by oak branches and leaves
so prickly dry and sharp I dare not pass
but return to a domestic journey
of emptying compost,
bringing stones to the courtyard
for their permanent residence, I pray,
since rocks don’t crave movement.
Now, I stop with gratitude:
there’s almost a drizzle
left over from this morning’s shower.
A drought burdened ground absorbs
what my tears welcome.
(c) Gudrun Mouw
June 11, 2015