Mountains in the Morning
Most mornings our mountains look sharp
and rugged against a clear blue sky.
Today they are the background
in an impressionist painting,
A smudged outline of their usual selves
Behind a screen of mysterious mist.
The wind will blow the mist away later
And the mountains will shout
“See! I am here,
as I always have been.”
Yesterday, the mountains were misty indeed. Some of it is smog I’m sure. But now we have had some rain at last! So the sage is starting to bloom. All over town the rain awakens the sage and it breaks out in glorious purple. I love the sight.
I often wonder what I could say to make my blog more interesting. It seems my life is quite boring just now. One could talk about current events, I suppose, but most of what is in the “news” just now doesn’t bear talking about, let alone thinking about !
I better stick to poetry. ………
GO TO THE ANT
I almost stepped on it…
a small twig, upright,
moved across my path,
held aloft by a determined ant.
Tall as a tree it must have been
to him, but he struggled on,
waving the twig bravely,
doing what few ants
had done before.
I am not determined and brave,
I cannot balance trees,
but as I struggle to cross my paths,
I am sometimes noticed,
but often stepped upon.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Yesterday I shared a poem about how I love clouds. Here’s one to add to that:
the clouds are only sheer curtains today
reduced by winds aloft
to filmy angel wisps molted
by some celestial bird
they pattern the sky like
I want to spin and dance with them.