Poem of the Week, by Naomi Shihab Nye

In a recurring dream, I’m running, long effortless bounds that somehow cover much more ground than is possible in waking life. Each time my foot touches down I spring up higher and longer, until I’m actually floating.

The dream turns unsettling once I’m beyond the reach of gravity, but until then all is lightness and freedom. A silent floating peace, earth and all its heaviness and worry far below.

Over the Weather, by Naomi Shihab Nye

We forget about the spaciousness
above the clouds

but it’s up there.The sun’s up there too.

When words we hear don’t fit the day,
when we worry
what we did or didn’t do,
what if we close our eyes,
say any word we love
that makes us feel calm,
slip it into the atmosphere
and rise?

Creamy miles of quiet.
Giant swoop of blue.

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