Clouds, Attic & Hearth Chapter 1: First, Breathe
Refurbishing an oldie...imagining evening conversations between the spirit, mind, and heart via whispered poems—perfect for bedtime.
I recommend listening to this poem alongside the beautiful playlist above! Read more about NATURE becoming an official artist on Spotify, Apple Music, etc. below:
I fear it's time; I’m merely embers—breaking & folding. -Hearth cracked & creaked. It’s that time of night. The drafts are chilling my wooden bones up here. Clouds? Are you there? -Attic groaned, desperately. As always. I'm here to soak up & release you with my every fibre of phase. -Clouds whisped, soft & pale grey with mystery. I feel so empty. Charcoal-charred wood in a gutted brick hole—I cannot rest. -Hearth barely burned. I feel cold, exposed, isolated—I cannot rest. -Attic wept weakly. Ah, shackled it seems. Hearth, your shackles appear to be Attic, forever above you & Attic, yours Hearth, far beneath you. But why can’t we rest? -Attic scratched. Dears, try it like this: Perhaps, above & beneath don't exist. If I'm a poet, maybe you're a scientist, Attic. Hearth, you're our loving, empathic lifeforce. Together, you are very much poetry—bare & raw. When you breathe in & out one another—the currents of warm & cold in the air like breaths in & out—I can craft with the magic of language. You are both needed to fully feel. You need breath from each other to rest. You cannot fight each other for it. Rest happens together. What if we haven't slept because you haven't given us words to speak to each other with? I'm tired. As my brick foams with frost, unable to insulate, I feel nothing from Hearth anymore. -Attic hissed. Perhaps only Attic should sleep? I worry, as Attic seems so frozen & vacant above me. I burn selflessly, fighting to breathe warmth up to them—through the pipes & ceiling—as their draft sinks through the damp floorboards, weathering the beat of my fire. -Hearth choked on its embers, flickering faintly. Ah, Attic, you said anymore. Hearth, you and Attic must both rest—you once knew this. You've always known this. Attic, Hearth cannot rest unless you slow the seeping of warmth, despite the wintry breeze. Welcome Hearth's heat. See the erratic rap of those snappy shutters? To start, and just for now, gently latch them. The air began to soothe. Attic smoothed the cool vines of air around the room, which warmed at each of Hearth’s swirling exhales. I can feel you, Hearth! And I, you, Attic! Breathing always comes first, and then, with faith, you may rest when you believe in one another. Now, full, I will weave our words with the breath you've offered me this evening. -Clouds sprinkled tender rain for us.