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Monthly Archives: March 2011

The Meadow in Rain

The meadow is bedecked with a million jewels, every grass stem a wealthy dowager.

Let the rain touch my eyelids and eyelashes, my cheeks, my nose, my lips.

The woodland chorus practices as I walk by
Chickadees, robins, jays and juncos.

I am delighted with the wetness surrounding my feet
A bog in miniature, I the giant with seven-league boots

A newt idles by, a leisurely fellow, intent on obtaining his insect breakfast
The color of fallen oak leaves,  he gives me a sultry wink.

The moss, so dry and dour in the summer months,
Is besotted with the dampness, chuckling and green.

The rain in sheets across the meadow.

The live oaks beckon with damp, shining fingers

I am a pilgrim, drenched in blessings, seeking the truth of watery silence.

Brigit Thomas
March, 2011

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