Yellow golden light leaf forms; the size of hands,
Sycamore’s late autumn offering,
A heavenly light.
Beneath her wide boughs
Young will of a wisp beech; deep bronze jeweled.
Here in this still quiet
This wooded spaciousness
I stop, and look and look,
Sink deeper towards the light of myself,

How to; when I return to my desk
Keep this sense of the lovely
(For there is sweetness in everything).
When I open the hard plastic box
And tap my fingers;
Another sort of creation;
A necessary work.
How to not shrink from
Grapple with

Resistance holds back and tightens;
Acceptance waiting in the wings,
Ready to welcome what is;
What is required?
Return us to steadfast;
A quiet being,
To sweep all into a wide expansiveness
Its enormous arms
Waiting to catch
Each one

Kay Baxter

November 2012