Thursday, December 23, 2010

Waking up to a field of Butterflies


Bleary-eyed, zipping wide my cocoon, I peel myself into the morning

Uttering, muttering, I crawl out of the tent.

The soft sun of morning greets me and iluminates

The magical carpet of spider webs,

Everywhere clinging to the dew-drench grass.

Riot of butterflies bustle on the subtle breeze -

Floating, fleeting. Greedily I drink it in:

Lowing cattle framed by bower of sweet peas.

I thrill at nature's wallpaper

Enclosed by beech saplings, sturdy firs: our secret glen. Cars zoom past.

Steadily heralding a new dawn, the daily web is caste.

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