In the green light of the trees’ stained glass windows
the ferns open the pages of their psalmody.
Patches of sun dance around on the ground.
The breeze talks to itself, ambling through the woods.
On the pond dragonflies move around, organizing things.
It’s a perfect summer day.
Tomorrow it will rain.
Soon enough the ferns will brown.
The time will come when the leaves go into the ground.
The time will come when I go into the ground.
But today is warm and calm. I am here.
In the evening I go out again.
In the clearing fireflies appear and disappear,
not in constant neon glare,
but little
perfect
flashes.
|