Deep Autumn Pond

author’s note:

Meditation isn’t an escape; it's a return.


DEEP AUTUMN POND

Years ago
while lolling in the afternoon sun
angling down through the leaves
I suddenly felt so quiet—

I was a still pond.

But only for a moment.
Soon, a falling leaf rippled my waters
and I rose to my feet.

In the years since then
I’ve tried many times
to return to that perfect moment.

And indeed—
if I delve down deep enough
sometimes the eye of the sun
will float up from the muck
at the bottom of this old pond.

And then I can see in the dark.

For a moment, at least.

Until another falling leaf
ripples the surface
and tells me:
time to rise to your feet.

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© 2026, Michael R. Patton

Perfection

author’s note:

Dedicated to the memory of Freddie the cat--who taught me so much.


PERFECTION

I hoped
by following a housecat
I would eventually arrive at
the center of my own
perfection.

Consider those paws--
so sensitive yet so tough--
so connected
to the spinal column:

it’s a finer intelligence.

But though I learned from my cat
its innate feline wisdom remained
beautifully foreign to me.

The cat,
understanding my plight
looked up into my eyes
as if to say:
“What I have
  you have--
  see
  feel
  realize
  myself in yourself.”

I do try to
but only in rare unexpected moments
do my feet fall into place--
into the fine beam balance
of a cat walk.

Such blessed accidents
always stir me--pain me--
to want more--more!

but without leaving a clue
as to how I might return.

In my walk more typical
I muddle through the mud--
I bumble and stumble
with staggering feet.

But though I spin chaotic
I keep this gyro going--
my entangled legs create
their own crazy tango:

the drunken clown
I saw in the circus
said we may wobble
yet still display elegance.

The clown asked me,
“What is perfection?”

© 2015, Michael R. Patton
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