Hillside Dream I

In a tiny cabin clinging to the emerald edge
of a lush flower strewn meadow
the pale weave of Queen Anne’s lace
bobbing golden poppies
nodding at the breeze
strolling through the purple thistles
and red clover that enticed
the sweet drowsing bees
to dance a mother may I
on the deep warm air
that stirred the golden hairs on my forearm
resting in the sun on the worn wooden railing
splintering with the rise and fall of seasons
of sun and rain and knife edge frost and there,
with the meadowlarks aria,
and the bickering Stellar’s jays
and insistent tattoos of a pileated woodpecker
hammering his way into spongy old bark
and the haze of early morning fog
yet clinging to the dark pond
stirring with water skimmers
and dragonfly nymphs
there I took a breath in with my eyes
as if I had been drowning in the dark dawn
took a breath of this great blessing of stout oak
and leaning fir and long green grass
a lady bug wandering amid my arm hairs
smelled the heat rising around me
with every beat
and gorged on the warm air again
of my heart
scudding gravid clouds
at the horizon shedding promises
of rain at the grass glinting greenly
and took in that last breath
and thought

this is the only life I’ve ever known. 

God, what a thing you have done.