|Pendle Hill Shadows, Photo by Susan|
She walked without noticing where her feet fell
on pine needles, metal grid, grass or concrete
drawn by ever green scent of pine and cut grass
called by cicadas, gongs, voices and silence
as if cocooned by what she hadn’t yet reached
in this hour set aside for rare solitude.
She thought—nothing—simply unwrapped shaded paths
while entering—as if they were gifts, tapped tears
of frankincense from days of yore laid out now
as guides and guardians. Wasn’t that the gift
of kings under the wondrous star? Mystery
became the food and drink of this hour’s peace.
And then when she—again alert—felt the weight
of air, she glowed through shadows she found there.
Posted for Sumana's
My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.
© 2016 Susan L. Chast