Circles of Light

For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the courage to start all over again.
Eric Roth

I started writing earlier, while the light lingered outside; now it is dark, and I can only faintly see the movement of the willow outside. Time has passed, and I’ve been present in that time, listening to the wind, feeling the keys under my fingers, tasting the sweetness of cherries as I work.

At this busy time of year, I’ve chosen to slow down, partly because I’ve been unwell, and partly because I no longer want to feel out of my skin, trying to be a person I’m not, trying to cram my days into shapes that leave me feeling disoriented and inadequate. My thoughts have turned to time, to its meaning, to what it means to live well with the time I have, to live a life I’m proud of, as in the quote above. Instead of trying to fit everything in, I’m choosing to enter into each moment with curiosity and a sense of possibility. Today’s poem, one I wrote in the last couple of weeks, is about this feeling of curiosity, especially as it relates to time.

Kaleidoscope

Closing one eye, 
I look through the lens
with the other, lift the tube
to the pale dawn slanting
through the window. Turning
the worn ring at the far end, 
I see a circle of broken light,
scattered with shards
of bright glass, settling
with a soft click. 

I shift my hand clockwise;
the pieces of glass collapse
into each other, reappear, slip,
crack open into new patterns.
The world outside tilts, shadowed
outlines of trees shimmer into 
dimension and colour, in the rising sun. 

I wish you a festive season full of shimmering possibility, and time for quietness amidst the bustle. You can read my reflections on time in Bright Shards of Glass, my latest blog post at Catching Light.

With appreciation,

Carri.

P.S. I encourage you to read out loud the poems I share. Most poetry is written to be heard, like music.