He realized shortly after seating himself
atop of a massive stone on the park's knoll,
gazing out over the lush spring-green prairie
sewn together by a clear, rippling brook,.
that sky reflections on those softly-rippling
waters were countless murals drawn,
washed clean, and painted anew on
the canvas of life in the blinking of his eye.
Sun's accretion warmed the back of his neck,
now more intense, risen past the vernal equinox.
Breezes buffeted fresh green grasses in the park.
Thermals carried gulls, geese, and migrating
pelicans on their journey to marshes and
lowlands in Canada. When last he sat on
the great stone the fall elements were stern, cold,
and annealed; anticipating a harsh plains winter.
Loping from south to north along the brook,
a wily fox worked his way toward a wide slough
and marshland near his view from the rock.
The fox's head swept side to side in instincts
perpetual sweep. From the stone he saw himself
an interloper, a fortunate meddler in the affairs
of nature; a nature whose portraits were always
vivid and vibrant; endlessly unique and pure.
Copyright © Brian Baumgarn | Year Posted 2016
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