Slow as it takes this morning to come together
To rise from a tangle of sleep
Into the dark gift of morning and coffee
And clarity on the hill,
Mountains turning pink and gold.
Steady and slow as dark runs on dirt roads
Lit only by the single beam of a headlamp.
Slow as footsteps soft and springy through the grove of spruce
Sprinkled with the tiniest of needles and cones
A path not yet packed down to hard roots and granite.
Slow as the crunch of dry brown leaves,
The hollow tapping of feet on the boardwalk over the bog
The slurping stick of mud
The clicking of poles.
Steady as the slow climb to the open ledge peak
Gold and red leafed
Sparkling blue lake and sky.
Slow as it takes coming down carefully
Over the steep stone ledge.
As slow as it takes the old cat to die
Lying there looking at the stream
Wondering if there is anything
Interesting enough to bother going after
Remembering when once she did.
As slow as it takes apple crisp to bubble in the oven,
Slow as it is for the young man to find his way to alright on the other side of inconsolable,
Slow as the sun rise standing here on the beach on this cold morning,
Slow as we are drifting in the glassy bay, waiting for the sun to set over golden water.
Slow as it takes blisters to heal,
For feet to mend
For ideas to be formed into words.
Slow as it takes for mercy to be be found
A stream of orange light across a dark sky
That turns so quickly
To shadow and shade
Sending us scurrying for headlamps.