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The heART of Ritual


Seasonal Poetry & Prose: 'Melancholic Perception', by Theodore Roethke

It was beginning winter, An in-between time, The landscape still partly brown: The bones of weeds kept swinging in the wind, Above the blue snow. It was beginning winter, The light moved slowly over the frozen field, Over the dry seed-crowns, The beautiful surviving bones Swinging in the wind. Light traveled over the wide field; Stayed. The weeds stopped swinging. The mind moved, not alone, Through the clear air, in the silence. Was it light? Was it light within? Was it light within light? Stillness becoming alive, Yet still? A lively understandable spirit Once entertained you. It will come again. Be still. Wait. ~ (excerpt from The Lost Son)


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