Spring trees are rowdy, elbow each other below
as I sink into the terrain before me,
ravine full of wordy beech, birch, and buckeye.
Tulip tree steals the scene, her full dowry
on display, trillium's satin white sprinkled beneath.
I might be a bit naive, but I listen to their spirited stories,
spruce-fir whispering his tall tale from a distance
and believe every word as it sinks into my skin;
breathe deeply and settle myself.
Just before pink's onset and the subtle change
of yellow to gold, I watch the hand of God
brush over the bluest of skies with the rosiest silvered glaze
and reset the scene.
I'm still no saint and this is no Garden of Eden,
but all have become silent; even black-capped chickadees
have stopped their sorties as I lean back upon outcropped stone.
I know it's late, but I'm lulled by the Master's touch,
stream's serenade, and the hint of a thousand nightlights
beginning to twinkle above my head.
by Margaret Bednar, May 28, 2020
This is linked with the fabulous "Poets and Storytellers United - Weekly Scribblings #21 - Anagrams" I used the following: below/elbow, dowry/rowdy/wordy, ravine/naive, sink/skin, listen/silent, trees/reset, satin/saint, rosiest/sorties/stories, subtle/bluest, late/tale, stone/onset, masters/streams.
I have been absent from writing poetry for almost 2 months. We have a house full because of this pandemic. I am thankful I am able to help my oldest children out and have them and their spouses/significant others stay with us for a while. They hailed from NYC and San Francisco. I also was homeschooling my youngest son and my high school daughter is on autopilot - I just allow her to do her thing. Summer has finally begun for me, school is out and the older ones are going back to their places in a few days.
So, I'm back and I have missed everyone. I can't wait to read your poetry. (and thank you, Jim, for checking up on me)