Bearing Witness

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

When the winds picked up,

a pair of red-shouldered hawks screamed,

brushed the multi-crowed treeline

and kettled into vibrant blue.

I could see,

no, taste,

turmeric and saffron when the sun

delighted in the angles they chose

to make with their bodies.

On a faster day, I might not

have noticed them,

or, noticing them,

wondered what else there was

to notice –

Like how the shadow of a single

cloud sauntered along the Ridge

without putting a single foot

upon the earth,

Or that the titmouse had started

to utter springtime notes

between the blades of his

waxy black beak,

Or that the spring peepers had

collected in a small, tentative chorus

on the south-facing shoreline,

uncertain of commitment.

And, rightly so.

I am passionate

about my love affair

with solitude,

but, truthfully,

something is always there –

beating its well-honed heart

and calling for my attention.

Beating its well-honed heart,

and calling for my attention.

Beating its well-honed heart,

and calling for my attention.

Sometimes,

like today,

I wonder if I was born

simply

to bear witness.

© 2013-2016/Jamie K. Reaser

From "Winter: Reflections by Snowlight"
Published by Hiraeth Press (www.hiraethpress.com)

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