Saying Grace

grace before the snow
before the dark cup of earth
the taste of sun

I didn’t see it at first, the tiny sprout peeking up under the daffodils sunny gaze. The green shoot in the dark soil surrounded by the late March snow.The yellow blossom with its own snowy cape leaning down as tho to shelter its tender cousin.

 

-wrensong

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About wrensong

I am a poet who collects stones. I am a wanderer of creek beds and forests, canyons and high desert who, coming home, sometimes finds words to tell the story. I am a companion with others in the search for Deep, Wild Soul. I shape containers in time and space for others to come together to write, to tell their stories, to hold each other in the telling. I am a grandmother and the companion of a cat named Alaya. I often travel out into open country with a man who calls himself Dunewalker who has hung his hammock in my heart.
This entry was posted in A River of Stones, aros, daffodill in snow, Nature, Poetry, Small Stones, Spring, The River. Bookmark the permalink.

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