The honeysuckle would be sickeningly sweet, like a funeral home, except that it’s mixed with the damp earth, bird song and cool morning air before the heat invades the day.
I walk the woods breathing myself back, sharing the air with the souls around me.
six petaled, white stars, clutching golden sparklers
hooded lavender flowers
red spotted, rusty salamanders with questioning tails in black mud
white powderpuff of minuscule blossoms
dew drops of desire and acceptance
The dogs run past the bear scat without a sniff, as if to deny the bear herself.
I squat low to look expecting seeds. Instead a cloud of blueish mold floats above the black scat.
I walk on imagining my feet like the soft topped, tough bottomed, long clawed silent step of the bear.
A crowing rooster
a plane in the distance (always a plane in the distance)
mosquitos
deer flies
the white dog, a panting engine
to remind me of my beating heart.
Such a sweet poem! Thank you for taking the time to walk, observe, record, and share!
Thank you for reading Marilyn.