Poem by Dan Stone
I stepped outside
this morning
asking myself
what gifts
what surprises
waited just beyond
my unbolted door.
I’ve made this stroll
my daily practice
for so long,
my walking meditation
just to wander
past my cozy rooms,
notice where it leads,
how it lifts.
If I take just
a few steps
with these tired
but able legs
these still willing feet
what opens
like a baby’s eyes for me?
What old friends?
What precious prizes?
And oh, just look
at what I found,
what blooms
now in my arms
after I put down
all the trouble
and the brittle bones
of trying I picked up
along the way.
Look at this day
fresh cut from the sun,
dying, yes, but still
alive right now,
ablaze with grace,
faces smiling, shining
with good news,
freshly spun,
with the utter
and unfailing truth,
the one the blackbirds
love to sing,
the final, ringing yes
that this lifetime
looking up at me
is all that’s left to do,
that I’m nothing more
or less than free
to savor this sweet
golden bunch
of everything.
I stepped outside
this morning
asking myself
what gifts
what surprises
waited just beyond
my unbolted door.
I’ve made this stroll
my daily practice
for so long,
my walking meditation
just to wander
past my cozy rooms,
notice where it leads,
how it lifts.
If I take just
a few steps
with these tired
but able legs
these still willing feet
what opens
like a baby’s eyes for me?
What old friends?
What precious prizes?
And oh, just look
at what I found,
what blooms
now in my arms
after I put down
all the trouble
and the brittle bones
of trying I picked up
along the way.
Look at this day
fresh cut from the sun,
dying, yes, but still
alive right now,
ablaze with grace,
faces smiling, shining
with good news,
freshly spun,
with the utter
and unfailing truth,
the one the blackbirds
love to sing,
the final, ringing yes
that this lifetime
looking up at me
is all that’s left to do,
that I’m nothing more
or less than free
to savor this sweet
golden bunch
of everything.