Down by the river no boys playing, banks submerged with rain - everything rushing, gushing, gurgling, sodden and soaking, debris caught and foaming. I watch the water mesmerised, it's a funny kind of sympathy she reflecting me: that spilling out, forcefully, an overflow of feelings days of rain and howling winds bring - of wondering, half-sleeping, weeks of lockdown and isolation familiar paths, unsettling us again and again. I'm a mess of worry and relief we know we're the lucky ones with animals safe, with house in tact that's dry and warm - spirit within us, hovering, rest and disturbance. Down by the river I'm a woman lingering, listening to the flow - birds are singing, darting in the trees and on my face blessed sun, shining.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
ABOUT the authorEmily Clare Sims is a farmer and mama to three young boys. Each day she looks for ways to notice beauty, contemplate her faith and savour the seasons... Categories
All
Archives
March 2023
|