in the still

the day began:

under yellow sun drops 

that drove 

the black night’s imaginings away . . .

enfolded, fairly good-naturedly:

in azure blue and green,  

and earth brown,  

and splashes of water and hope . . .

and then:

my footsteps fell 

on snaps of twigs

– lovely – in the ruddy still . . . 

the sound:

the crack, crack, crackle,

crisp, canyon echo in the air –  

I was there, I was there . . .

that I passed that way:

a small thing, I suppose,

and yet – in that pure white –  

so powerful . . .

I grinned – like a kid.

photo:  in the still – W. Bourke 

© 2014 Wendy Bourke