This is a rerun, first post in 4-18-2020. 🙂
.

A Question for Little Things (Ars Poetica)
I rise each year on a
Dark March morning
To descend steeply down the
Trail treading steady
Between still sleeping leafless
Trees to wrap my
Own first breath of Spring
In a green blanket of
Southern bluebells
Draped across black soil of
The muddy sinks where the
Blue and sometime pink flowers
Flit in a sharp breeze
And seem a misplaced
Intrusion against the
Silver grey light
Found just before the dawn.
These are a sign of
Early warmth spreading and then
Breaking apart the secrets of
The mountain chill
That has not just yet
Decided it is quite
Prepared to die.
.
I kneel to get a
Clearer vision of their
Bodies, the veins and
Filaments, and am
Surprised to see
A round and shining drop of
Morning dew
Nesting within the
Slow open hand of a
Deep velvet leaf.
I am drawn and soon
The dust and splinters of
Shattered stars floating there
Are opened to my view
Bending the early lights
Of their living
Sister sun.
.
I rest between breathings
Swimming then just drifting
In this ocean, and finally
Sink toward the peaks
Of clouds anchored
In the hidden stream.
I find myself first
Asking and then becoming
A question as to whether
This little drop of morning
Simply reflects
Or does it see
Or even joins
Heaving into itself the vast
Expanse of heaven and
The endless blue
Horizon of
Distant silent sky?
.
- Lona Gynt April 2018.

Posted on Open Link Night #218 hosted by Grace at the fabulous dVerse Poets pub. Here is a link! You will love it… I think. Hey, that rhymed!
Beautiful to read and know.
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Thank you. And to be known.
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Very welcome Lona
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An annual tradition worth maintaining. Like an immersion.
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Yes, these bluebells lift me every year. It is like a baptism in a way.
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A little breath of spring as we settle into winter. (K)
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Yes. A little shot of it can be nice
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