if nothing else, poetry captures the moment and stretches it in a way that can be held, felt and wound around oneself... recollections from a morning walk:
Nothingness
(22-12-06)
The bird
outlines
a black shadow
on a still
colourless cloudless blue sky;
A wing flutters
ever
so
slightly
as it swims
across my upward view.
The tree stump
waits
in patience, hope
and a certain
sense of fatalism
(or fatality?)
for a new twig
to burst into leaf.
There's a quiet
in the crisp crunch
of footfall
on gravel.
Heads nod
hands rise
in a hello;
Morning walkers
polite
alone
breathing in
and out
and feet
move on
another mile.
Nothingness
(22-12-06)
The bird
outlines
a black shadow
on a still
colourless cloudless blue sky;
A wing flutters
ever
so
slightly
as it swims
across my upward view.
The tree stump
waits
in patience, hope
and a certain
sense of fatalism
(or fatality?)
for a new twig
to burst into leaf.
There's a quiet
in the crisp crunch
of footfall
on gravel.
Heads nod
hands rise
in a hello;
Morning walkers
polite
alone
breathing in
and out
and feet
move on
another mile.
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