NeuroDivine

This poem is a quiet meditation on belonging. Set against the soft pulse of a sleeping terrace, it listens closely to the unnoticed life of the night — cats threading the dark, a fox passing unseen, an owl offering its steady call. In that chorus of small, living presences, the speaker finds not isolation but kinship.

It is a reflection on how sensitivity—to sound, to shadow, to subtle movement—can become a bridge to comfort, and how the wild, even at our doorstep, can name us home.

The terrace settles into sleep,
yet walls breathe stories through the deep.
Cats thread the lanes with whispered cries,
their silhouettes on slate‑dark skies.

A fox pads past on cautious feet,
soft rustle rising from the street.
The night is stitched with living signs,
small kingdoms speaking through the lines.

Then from the elm an owl calls low,
a steady note the dark winds know.
Not fear, but comfort fills the room—
a lantern‑voice against the gloom.

I lie awake and let them be,
these neighbours in their secrecy.
Their midnight chorus, wild and mild,
keeps watch and names me as its child.

Copyright 2025. Michael McFarland Campbell.