Friday, 19 July 2013

something in the air

the sunbeams fell like lace
upon the place, where we paused
to lean against a wooden rail
that framed a shallow brook.

a black capped chickadee
whistled a lovely three note melody
in the grace that fluttered
in green caressing breezes:

the two of us amongst the trees - 
in birdsong and breaths -
his words tossed into the swirl
of life and mirrored reflection, and for a moment,

they were lost - to the sweet soothing tranquil air.
though, I’m sure that, as he stroked my hand,
drinking in that lovely forest whirl
he said something he had never said before

and whispered – softly whispered:  my dear girl.

photo:  Little Bridge in the Woods – W. Bourke

© 2013 Wendy Bourke


  1. I love all the sounds and sense of gentle communion in your poem.

    So, whose words are those - a human who has passed or someone else who is there with you? (I might have suggested they even could belong to the bird, but you mention "we" in the first verse.) I like how you don't tell us.

  2. The words were from someone in my life who (like a lot of people, I guess) utters lovely words - though, often, they are barely audible.