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Morning Raga

March 9, 2010 Writing No Comments

Morning Raga

Tree branches shower blossoms
Petals beneath my feet.
Morning scents green, cool
Mist from valley below invades
Curtains of grey blur sun splinters.

Before day comes air is brisk.
Silent.

Silent?

Listen.
A lone bird sings clear,
Breeze whispers a gentle breath on cheek.

Listen again.

Trembling leaves glisten wet
Cobwebs dangle dew drops
Imperceptible they dance.

Down the path winding into pool of grey
I embrace the floating silence that comes.

No questions, no answers.

Leaving behind me the passing season
I pocket the morning
Walk on.

***
Selected: 1 of 24
Poetry Anthology Turner Maxwell

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