These are just the ramblings of a writer who isn't sure where her muse is. Writing must go on, muse or not.
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An image to capture forever:
The solemn peace of nature.
So melodious the unorchestrated song
that nary can I continue to write.
The sun strikes perfectly behind me,
throwing shadows here and there.
I look over my shoulder for its comforting caress.
The birds bicker behind me, others tweet in the distance.
Grass is unbothered by the gentle breeze,
looking as though it should feel like silk
if my fingers ran through the differing foliage.
Chimes that are not mine echo from other properties
as the wind kicks up, a relief I am thankful for.
Insects have come to investigate my presence
and I suspect the bridge rabbit is nearby.
The only fracture of this moment
is the gentleman across the way
who has chosen this same time
to tend to his yard.
I look around this interruption,
see the swaying branches,
acknowledge the cloudless sky,
and breathe in, close my eyes.
Not to shut this out,
but to feel this scene
knowing that this is what life feels like.
YOU ARE READING
Sitting Here Thinking (2019)
PoetryShort poems of varying subjects and construction, but deep enough to be swallowed in. Written while sitting anywhere, lost in thought about everything and anything. These were written mostly in the year 2019. Please feel free to leave any feedback...
