First light: every day a new beginning

Rising at the crack of dawn

To feel the air against my skin

To walk, with the aid of a stick,

To listen to the dawn chorus.

Thrillingly,  it’s already late September

A year since the funerals started

On St Patrick’s Day,

When madness brushed with death.

Now, I’m thinking that when I return

Home with Charlie I’ll read

The words, again, words that I can never forget:

“The world is full of magic things,

Patiently waiting for our senses

To o grow sharper.”

Today, my senses are sharp,

Like a razor I cut through the trash

Of man’s deceit – and breathe a sigh of pure relief –

The golden  leaves on the trees,

The blossoming of the north

Astound me: such wonder in the world.

My dog and I are old now but we rub along

This pilgrimage of grace.

Learning from each other

How to hone our senses

To see into the heart of things.