Sunday Morning


In all the mountains,
In the treetops
Not a breath of wind.
The birds are silent in the woods.
Just wait: soon enough
You will be quiet too.

~ Robert Hass, “After Goethe” from Time and Materials.

Credits: Photo – Wolerxne.  Poem – Nemophilies

Saturday Morning: How gracious, how benign, is Solitude.


When from our better selves we have too long
Been parted by the hurrying world, and droop,
Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired,
How gracious, how benign, is Solitude.
How potent a mere image of her sway;
Most potent when impressed upon the mind
With an appropriate human centre – hermit,
Deep in the bosom of the wilderness; […]
Kneeling at prayers; or watchman on top
Of lighthouse, beaten by Atlantic waves; […]
When, for the night deserted, it assumes
A character of quiet more profound
Than pathless wastes.

— William Wordsworth, The Prelude

Credits: Photo: Nini Poppins. Quote: Google Books via

Lightly child, lightly


Awareness is your refuge:
It’s very practical and very simple,
but easily overlooked or not noticed.
When you’re mindful, you’re beginning to notice:
It’s like this

~ Ajahn Sumedho, The Sound of Silence


  • Quote Source: Mindfulbalance. Photo:mm by zezn (via Journal of a Nobody)
  • Prior “Lightly child, lightly” Posts? Connect here.
  • Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”


Saturday Morning


I come into this small room and take a seat on the floor.
I don’t expect miracles.
But I have given myself a sacred space,
and now I simply offer myself the even greater gift of time to use it.
Someday, perhaps, something will happen here.
For now, I love this room,
this emptiness, the fading light, my own quiet company.
I am learning, by sitting, to become,
in the words of Terry Tempest Williams,
“a caretaker of silence, a connoisseur of stillness, a listener of wind.”

~ Katrina Kenison, Magical Journey: An Apprenticeship in Contentment 


I do not dare breathe / Or move


The moon drops one or two feathers into the field.
The dark wheat listens.
Be still.
There they are, the moon’s young, trying
Their wings. […]
I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe
Or move.
I listen.
The wheat leans back toward its own darkness,
And I lean toward mine.

Sunday Morning


The nearest I’d come to feeling
anything like God
was the plain blue cloudless sky
and a certain silence,
but how do you pray to that?

~ Janet Fitch, White Oleander

Notes: Quote: The Chateau of My Heart. Photo: So, Now What?

Sunday Morning


…I turned
and the earth hushed.
While I leaned into silence
a morning too vast to fathom
filled with light.


~ David Lee, Dawn Psalm, Pine Valley from So Quietly The Earth

Credits: Poem Source – Rod McIver. Photo: Kyle Thompson via PetaPixel

It’s been a long day

black and white,photography,

Oh, the coming-out-of-nowhere moment
when,   nothing
no what-have-I-to-do-today-list

maybe   half a moment
the rush of traffic stops.
The whir of I should be, I should be, I should be
slows to silence,
the white cotton curtains hanging still.

~ Marie Howe, The Moment


Saturday Morning


Maybe we will wake up to the silence
of shoes at the foot of the bed
not going anywhere.

— Richard Siken, excerpt of Dots Everywhere from War of the Foxes


It would just be there


I lie awake,
wishing I had faith of some kind.
I’ve caught glimpses of it now and then,
I can even conjure it up for a second or two,
but it fades.
It’s a stillness,
the polar opposite of worry.
It isn’t hope;
hope has too much energy,
requires constant renewal;
faith (if I had it) would just be there.

~ Abigail Thomas, Safekeeping: Some True Stories From a Life

Photograph: A. Sprigg via Precious Things