Light in stripes across the road
Low morning sun sitting in a field
Birdsong, a celebration of all that is good in the world
a song to lull the wanderer into a sun-warmed daze
Time slows
and by the roadside whole worlds erupt in colour
hedgegrow homes no longer barren, bare
In quiet houses set away from busy streets
libraries collect dust
and sun browns the spines of books abandoned
They are all outdoors
reading nature's manual
somewhere in the fields, or woods,
lost to time, belonging to a broader landscape
If I lay myself on the dew-kissed grass
and stare into the sky
can I absorb and take it with me
the light and sound of every untouched morning since the word began
Photo by Kent Pilcher on Unsplash