Nature writes its own poetry
Nature carries its own silent swath of poetry. It rises early, quickly becoming embedded in one’s consciousness.
Here comes the sun
The soft gray filament of early morning light stirs, then selects a ribbon of amber and indigo to dress up the horizon.
The sun responds to nature’s nudge, pushing its torso upward, pumping newfound blood into the dawn of a new day.
Landscape comes alive
Earth’s fecund odor rises to anoint autumn’s richly textured leaves, its bold breath rendering them resplendent in golden brown and scarlet red.
The burble of a nearby stream soothes the senses, rinsing the complexity out of yesterday’s madness.
Simple yet stunning
There is a haunting stillness to the moment. Its gilded quality is one of intimate simplicity.
A bird pierces the quiet with crisp chirps.
Then another warbles a call only they understand. Cardinal? Oriole? I do not know. Nor do I care. I savor the scene as a solemn patch of peace. How hard would it be to a quilt more of the same into an entire day?
Bill Heitland has authored three books: Adversity’s Early Light, Chance Evers and Two for the Seesaw.
For more go to billheitland.com
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