Contemplation (Pastures of the Universe)

unicorn universe


This damp, drizzly morning

I saw a wing of a butterfly —

gentle, little… blue and sprinkled.

I felt a whiff of zephyr —

light, fragrant… undulating.

None can fly close to the cloudy Sky.

 

Suspicious Sun yearns for the empyrean,

raising its head and grinning towards a

savory Pasture.

The prickle of a green hornet seems terrifying,

It buzzes around, hums, breathes deeply and wonders

why won’t I get out of Its way.

But It cannot reach the topmost needle of a conifer.

 

Brisk eve hints of rime.

A little finch is sleeping on a stump;

I approach steadily.

The horn doesn’t frighten It,

neither does my black stare.

Ash and autumn cover that small body;

the wings carry It to the spring and back —

unable to gain height.

 

I became a birdwatcher today:

magical crow, wise and beaky raven,

surplus magpie, sparrow-hawk ready to hunt,

euphonious nightingale, humorous mockingbird,

friendly sparrow, a powerful wren…

At nightfall the Moon is white.

I’m welcoming it and pondering still:

Who’s Wings lead to the Pastures of the Universe?


 

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