Log Cabin Chronicles




With both hands around my Chinese blue mug
I revel in the aroma of coffee
Leisurely sipping its steamy comfort
in the soft quiet of early morning.

An unconditional gift to myself
I reserve this moment for reflection
Savoring the shift from the peace of sleep
To the clatter of real life around me.


Then there's the easel, straddling the rug
With my hand poised above the blank white sheaf
I become the brush, marvelously alert
Floating, sailing a long ways from my mooring.

Like dew that seems to be drunk by an elf,
I disappear into clouds of perfection
Becoming light on walls or blue of the deep
Where my tether releases, then re-aligns me.


The guns that I can't hear bring violence
I keep the suffering masses at bay
In this state, strident voices are silenced
Swaying slightly, I become a new day.

[EDITOR'S NOTE: Adrienne Fisher wrires in Jericho, Vermont]

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Copyright © 2015 Adrienne Fisher/Log Cabin Chronicles/11.15