Mystic morning, snow-laced, leafless branches
of treed sentinels, faint outlines.
Merge into the fog, awaiting the Sun’s return,
awake, not asleep, aware.
Of Oneness with the Great Mystery
of the darkened womb, holding
hope, promise.
Of New Life in the embryonic Now.
Judy Lampman is a teacher, yoga practitioner, practiced meditator, gardener and hiker. She’s a semi-native who recalls the days when we were wild and free. Some of these places are still to be found.
Boulder Weekly accepts poetry and flash fiction submissions of 450 words/35 lines or fewer, accompanied by a one-sentence bio of the author. Send to: poetry@boulderweekly.com
