Between the Waters

Solstice Prayer

By: EarlB, 1:26 PM GMT on December 23, 2010

On the darkest night
When all seemed lost,
Ships were sinking
With their oceans half-crossed.

Hope was born of fear
And desperate need,

And light was kindled
From the dark.

Deep into the darkest night
When all seemed lost,
Waves and hearts were calmed:
Harbors found, oceans crossed.


Letters From Home

By: EarlB, 1:17 AM GMT on December 11, 2010


Your mother sent this to me many years ago, I thought that you
would like to read it.


Uncle Roy

Most mornings you can find me standing outside at 6 am.
A small benefit of my early-to-rise schedule is that I am
introduced, over a year's span, to an ever-changing, an ever
so gradually changing scene. I probably see more sunrises than
most people, I probably hear more bird songs than most people,
and, I am probably aware of the sound of surf pounding on miles
of beach than most people. Now, as we approach the shortest day
of the year, my special treat is in enjoying a night sky in the
morning, when my mind is freshest and most absorbent.

But, I pay for this extra helping of night with the loss of the
babel-like conversation of tens of varieties (even though many
of the languages are spoken by a single mockingbird!) of bird
songs that swirl around me during daylight mornings. Now, most birds
are tucked deeply into protective bushes or shivering under loosely
sheltering pine boughs.

I was taken, the other morning while standing in the cold dark,
by the fact that I heard nothing. Absolutely Nothing!

The surf was quiet from 5 miles away, traffic sounds couldn't
be heard from 2 miles away. No birds, no wind through the trees
only a hundred feet away, nothing.

So, I listened for things that I have never heard, and there they
were: mice yawning, stars sizzling and the moon whispering a lover's
song. It was the rare chance that I'm glad I didn't waste. Only the
last chance calls of an owl broke the spell. Morning had come.




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