There are nights that are so still
that I can hear the small owl calling
far off and a fox barking miles away.
It is then that I lie in the lean hours,
Awake listening to the swell,
born somewhere in the Atlantic,
rising and falling, rising and falling
wave on wave on the long shore
by the village, that is without light
And the thought comes of that other being who is awake, too,
letting our prayers break on him,
not like this for a few hours,
but for days, years, for eternity…R.S.Thomas
Makes you think doesn’t it…I am one of those people who wake suddenly in the lean hours and it is then I do way too much worrying about things I can’t control, but unlike the being in the poem, it is not for eternity….at least when day break comes, sanity is restored…
Sedimentary Watercolour in the surreal style, of the edge of Lake Superior on Arches Not Paper..