Dark in the early mornings now, the days sliding toward winter.  Light was just cracking the horizon when I got up at six, a long way from the actual rising.  When I was a child, I used to think of the sun yawning and stretching his arms as he rose into the sky. Sun rising, bread rising, hot air balloons and blimps and birds…The Boss rising:

And a poem for today, this day, by Denise Levertov:


The fire in leaf and grass
so green it seems
each summer the last summer

The wind blowing, the leaves
shivering in the sun,
each day the last day.

A red salamander
so cold and so
easy to catch, dreamily

moves his delicate feet
and long tail. I hold
my hand open for him to go.

Each minute the last minute.


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3 Responses to Rising

  1. “Each minute the last minute…” Beautiful.

    And I had not heard that Bruce song- thank you for sharing.

    For some reason I think about “Sunday Morning Coming Down” Not sure if you are a country fan or not, I have a special spot in my heart for Johnny Cash:

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