A Poem: Wholly Different

How we wake up empty,
emptied by dreams,
by restless imaginings,
by weariness.

How morning is a pitcher tipped
for the pouring,

for thirsty hearts,
hands held out as bowls,
in readiness for the filling.

And how,
the silence of the trees breathing,
the cool air after rain,
the intermittent birdsong,

or the flutter
of a piwakawaka’s wings,

are all
as liquid spring-fed refreshment
to a parched soul waking.

So that we see perhaps
a reason in the emptying,
for the night’s blank,
dark slate to fall.

In that the morning,
arriving each day so wholly different,
brings something new again
to give.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
January 2023

Life is a garden, not a road.
We enter and exit through the same gate wandering,
where we go matters less than what we notice.
~ Kurt Vonnegut, from his novel ‘Cat’s Cradle’