In these last days of August, I take a look back at a summer moment tracing the thread of beauty on a coastal road somewhere in New England…
In the quiet tidal marsh,
along a coastal road lined
in Queen Anne’s Lace,
a lone heron dances
stirring the sanctuary
I dance too,
my legs wobbly, my steps small.
Golden light breaks upon my back,
and on the heron’s wing.
I turn beyond what is known
and see the lavender horizon in a tapestry
of muted light.
Here I have no fear,
for there is no one to see
my silent gratitude, full with grace.
The tidal marsh waits
like the sanctuary,
like the heron,
like all of us, for the light.
Le petit lapin espiègle à la veste bleue vous a toujours séduit par ses facéties et vous souhaitez en savoir plus sur celle qui lui a donné vie, ce blog vous ouvre la porte du monde fascinant de Beatrix Potter
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The poetry of ineptitude.
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