Rods and Cones

The days are getting shorter as winter focuses it's bearings on our lives. The sunlight has a different quality as it moves lower in the sky, but it still can cause problems for a migraineur.

I feel like the sun gets in my eyes more this time of year. Maybe I just see it more clearly when I come out from my cave.

Rods of shadow speckle fleetingly through the leaves, tracking time upon the ground. Streaming waves catching the corner of an eye. The difference between light and dark shortened on the clock, allowing us to see the beginning and the ending of the day.

Cones of color float upon the wind, dancing fluid movement till they reach the ground. Whirling flotsam transitions through the act of life and death. Looking straight ahead I see the pageant rolling with the currents. Twirling to the song of Autumn's tears.

Of course, the rods and cones are only in my eyes. Eyes that must be opened to view the spectacle abounding all around us. Closed to the pain that living life provides and seeking respite from the world. Dance in the light and dark that mark the passage of our creation. Be thankful of the progression that the changes in the season afford.



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Unrest

I dedicate the following poem to all the people of Iran, and China, and all the other places in the world where the masses are left unheard or unheeded. As the world shows our dissatisfaction for arrant governments. We pray for the poor and the persecuted.

Unrest

Faces dance

In cheering walls.

Heaving chants

At those they maul.

A rushing torrent

Casting stones.

Anxieties spent

In angry tones.

Speaking out

For what they feel.

A fighting bout

Between wrong and real.

Politics prevent the boast,

Of everything at peace.

Unrest exists on every coast,

Charter's short on this world's lease.

We need to stop and look around,

To notice what we see.

React calmly, break new ground,

Hear the masses and their plea.

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