Try It Now (Day 508)

How many tones ring 

in your ears when 

you silence Them?

When you uninvite 

Them from the daily

celebration that is 

your morning coffee?

When you mute Their 

urgent, insincere pleading 

and fearmongering?

Do you suddenly 

hear papery leaves

—mere buds, last time 

you noticed them—

rustling in the whisper 

of a breeze?

How many heartbeats, 

before eternity settles 

back into your center?

Until the exquisite 

smallness of the everyday 

smooths the lines of

tension from your brow? 

Try it now, and 

count yourself 

among the blessed.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Winslow Homer, Girl in a Hammock, 1873

Oil on canvas, Colby Museum of Art (via Wikimedia Commons)

When November Comes (Day 446)

Even the silence is quiet today.   

The last of Autumn’s leaves flocked 

and flew away in a late-winter storm,  

so this afternoon’s peace remains 

unmarred by their bird-like scuttling

on the root-buckled sidewalk. 

From my glass of tea, just within reach 

on a slatted wood table, condensation 

trickles and falls onto the damp, 

shaded  grass below, its intermittent  

drip drip marking these gentle moments.

And, though I can remember the bitter 

feel of February, my body is incapable 

of knowing it—with this dappled light 

insinuating itself so intimately into my 

blood—nor do I want to. There will be 

time enough for frost and snow, 

when November comes again.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Ankyn/Pixabay, further altered

Gate (Day 278)

Metal on metal

Sagging gate peals when opened

Coming  or  going

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Momentmal

Indulgence No.1 (Day 228)

Deeply past nightfall.

Each page whispering secrets.

Weightless, fallow hours.

(c) by Hannah Six

Image: Pete Souza