A poem about the flow of time in Brighid’s routine.
(Image description: A photo of a clear hourglass. A thick antique book is to its left. A bouquet of purple flowers and a couple other small items are on top of the book. The area is mostly dark except for the objects highlighted in a soft light.) Credit: https://unsplash.com/@nate_dumlao
Brighid requested a poem this week, so I wrote one that focused somewhat on a topic I’ve been musing over for the past week.
Monastic Time
‘Tween the dark neither-then
and neither-now,
Brighid rises.
The creeping rays greet Her
as prayers are sung, and
the animals tended.
Tools mended,
and horses shodded,
the sun arcs as Brighid works.
A blessing hummed, as
food is relished
and ideas flow ‘neath the noon sun.
Herbs gathered,
with well water imbued,
Her healing is bestowed with afternoon beams.
As the sun sets,
Brighid passes Her oak,
bare branches among the vernal greenery.
The tree completes its task,
in its own way and time,
like a spiral on its course.
She smiles, sagely
as sure as prayers said,
life knows the way.
Stars then shine above,
a call for the next prayers,
Brighid rests as the cycle starts anew.
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