IN THIS ROOM

    Waking to the peace of an untethered

               white light in the tiny room

                     I’ll call my own for this

                             island in time,

the morning breeze billows the lace beside my

comfortable bed and I am rested in a way that

           I cannot be except when I am here

                             in this place,

                                 at peace.

                 I am still, not burdened

                   with a single urgency

                            on this day,

            and I wallow most pleasantly

               in long, mellow thoughts:

                   morning daydreams,

                       an easy jumble of

paths to be trod, vistas to be discovered anew,

the sound of the surf, the scent of seaweed and salt in the thick morning air,

          the sweet, soft cushion of a million pine needles beneath my feet,

the simple good fun of becoming a ten year old again as I step warily onto an old

                      board stretching across a questionable pool of mud…

                                  and still, for a moment more, I lay still

                                     between the smooth cotton sheets

                                               reveling in the knowledge

                                                            that I am so

                        safe and at peace in this tiny room by the sea,

                                               welcoming the day

        as the morning breeze billows the lace beside my comfortable bed.

Lucia Weinhardt