By Duncan Berry
soundlessly
my hand guides
the wooden striker
through the dark
towards the hidden
bowl of the bell
waves of sound
pulse outwards
washing over my
silent form
anchored
to the ground
by the
in
and
out
of my breath
surging against
the four walls
around me
their liquid reverberation
decaying
slowly
slowly
back into silence
just beyond the window
a frog
starts to sing
a simple
welcome
to the drifting sheets of rain
as they return
to the roof
soundlessly
my hand guides
the wooden striker
through the dark
towards the hidden
bowl of the bell
meditation in the morning /
cascade head /
november 2006
Duncan Berry lives in a “majority of wildness” (on the Oregon Coast) with his beloved wife of forty years,
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By Duncan Berry
soundlessly
my hand guides
the wooden striker
through the dark
towards the hidden
bowl of the bell
waves of sound
pulse outwards
washing over my
silent form
anchored
to the ground
by the
in
and
out
of my breath
surging against
the four walls
around me
their liquid reverberation
decaying
slowly
slowly
back into silence
just beyond the window
a frog
starts to sing
a simple
welcome
to the drifting sheets of rain
as they return
to the roof
soundlessly
my hand guides
the wooden striker
through the dark
towards the hidden
bowl of the bell
meditation in the morning /
cascade head /
november 2006
Duncan Berry lives in a “majority of wildness” (on the Oregon Coast) with his beloved wife of forty years, Melany. Their home is filled with the sound of bells brought back from Hue, Vietnam, reminding them to breathe, smile, and embody gratitude every day.
