Lessons in Lennox

Saint Helens meditation meadow

The nearly naked Trees were talking
Hugged by whips of forsythia and daffodil flutes,
Spring’s front-line soldiers,
and I could almost smell the worms
in this meditation meadow
where the perfume of warm rain on asphalt greets
Berkshire wild compost in motion-
The Unbottled Fertility of an April morning-
Laced with paisley conversation
Between mother and daughter
Meandering and looping like peeper-hemmed oxbows
And their long liquid lashes
Then shifting left to obey
A GPS-mandated U-turn
Toward the highway
Where the pattern morphed
and sped toward revelation and connection-
words dipping and spilling and bubbling
boiling from the lips and confusing the earth,
with its willingness to receive-
any angle of the sun,sobbing of the skies, or human attempt to love.

Mom at courage meditation stone


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