Dining Out

There I see, one of many trees 
moving to a bluer breeze beneath the sky.
Bristled branches bending with 
the weight of many cones; 
a dripping sap of needles 
to a lap of many days. 
Bluest tented sky above me, 
where occasional clouds pose as thoughts,
white-painted smiles on a baby-blue face.
Then, trees of green serene against 
that high blue sky, their green-tipped 
spears piercing the pillows of white. 
One proud curving cloud escapes 
outside this birth of green, 
lingers above the trees, 
whose moments pass for years, 
and the world appears to blink 
like I, in disbelief. 
Each blue hue, each white, each 
blinking-winking light of magic 
urges retinas to free their water.
What heart cannot devour this, 
a honey world of freshness  
on the day I share my breakfast 
on this porch with Mother Earth.

natureprose poetry

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