Monday, July 8, 2013

Field Of Dreams


She stands, swinging her stick,
in a luminous field of flowers.
She's content, and not going anywhere.

Fascinated by the endlessly moving grass,
the spray of colours dazzling the light,
she simply turns round and round, slowly.

She'll be there all day, all week, all year.
No work will get done, yet she will know
deeply the texture of leaf, stalk, air.

And the sound of birds singing will fill
every last part of her being with the tumult
of stillness, the largeness of silence.

Look, the sun reflects the tears in her eyes.
Elsewhere, the rush and clamour ignores her
as she stands in the midst of what is living.

Dance, girl, for your steps are always arriving.


4 July 2013

1 comment:

  1. beautifully written and perhaps I would sometimes like to be "her"and just tune out the the noise of life, and get to know every detail of those other beautiful things, the texture, the smell and the feel

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