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| Nature's Stew
You need to write, but the words don't come easily, your muse is sitting in a tree, dropping seeds from on high. You lay a blanket at the base, open a wicker basket and begin to eat of the fruits of the Orchard, just yonder of the lightning trail. She watches the juices dribble down your chin, she is coaxed down, and together you sit, eating. She spies your caraffe of cool stream water, you notice her lips are parched, and offer her a drink. She nods heartily, sips, and sips again, and then begins, shyly at first, to tell her stories. Velvet capes and no shoes. Up the Maple tree, they could see the winking lights of the city. I looked up and watched as they pointed out buildings and gasped as dusk blushed alive over the horizon. How i wished to climb that tree, see through the eyes of a child. They brought down fresh green leaves and began to gather wood roses and weeds, petals, twigs and grass. Into the basket it all went. A potato masher and whisk, and they were ready to brew nature's stew. ~shalome Copyright � 2006 2007. All Rights Reserved. |