The Comfort of Words

 

I like the early morning hours…although five may be a little too early. Well…if I’m honest here I should admit that the waking hour is 4:00 am (but stayed in bed to almost six…does that count for normalcy?)  

The morning hours feel precious, sacred and steeped in quietness….no one is on the street. The darkness is deep. Here in the center of town, the quietness is not even broken up by the sound of a car.

“All morning I worked to clear a space, a place

For the comfort of words.

Now it is done: the slow ordering of familiar objects:

The old chair cleared of its pile of books,

The cobalt canisters aligned like a row of school children

The desk relieved of its weight of papers.

 

The clearing brought a peace—or at least a cautious truce

Between the never ending disarray of chaos

And the promise of a clean new slate.

And this I have done before.

I have cleared away and begun anew.

 

Looking around the room

The yet undusted objects speak to me--

My old friends: the antique clock

The brown pottery bowl

The amber lamp--

Must these too be cleaned; renewed?

To make way for what?

I take my pen in hand

Seeking the comfort of words.

 

Beginnings demand endings

As birth demands death

Yet I remain curiously in-between worlds.

I’m not ready to release. I will wait.

Closing my eyes, my hand clenches and unclenches the pen

While I sink into finer worlds, where timelessness,

Like the gently falling dust and snow,

Covers me, as I give way…

To the comfort of words.”

Elizabeth Spring