Quiet, a sonnet by Aisling
The quiet of the house envelopes me
Enfolds me in the shadows and the light
The whistle of the kettle sings sweetly
One last cup of comfort to toast the night.
My candles flicker softly on the hearth
My thoughts flicker more softly to the past
I pull my memories close against my heart
Relive them, let them go, and watch them pass.
But when I rise to tuck me into bed
The echoes of those memories rise again
They sing of yesterday within my head
I listen to the lullaby of then
The quiet is a comfort and a prize
It soothes my fall, then inspires me to rise.
(The first in a series of "little songs" for Sunday.)
Wherever you are, whatever the weather, I wish you comfort and joyful memories.