View From the Ground

The sky, a distant painted masterpiece, Unfurling blues where airy currents cease. From here, the giants loom, their towers high, Their peaks like needles pricking at the sky. The hurried feet, a river at my shoe, Each face a story rushing to pursue A hidden purpose, a determined stride, While I observe where shadows softly hide. The cracks in pavement intricate and deep, Hold tiny worlds where fallen petals sleep. A stubborn weed that pushes through the grey, A silent testament to life's own way. The rumble of the bus, a passing beast, The distant siren, a disquieting feast For ears attuned to earth's immediate sound, Where echoes of the grander world abound. The conversations, snippets overheard, Of triumphs small and worries undeterred. A shared complaint about the morning chill, A whispered promise holding someone still. The world unfolds in fragments close and near, The intimate details sharp and crystal clear. The texture of a leaf, the ants' slow crawl, The chipped paint peeling from a weathered wall. No sweeping vistas, no majestic sweep, Just human scale where humble secrets sleep. The weight of being grounded and aware, Of textures tangible, of burdens we all bear. Yet in this closeness something deep takes root, A sense of place, a silent solid loot Of understanding born of patient gaze, Of finding wonder in the commonplace. For from the ground the truth can rise and bloom, Unburdened by the grandeur and the gloom Of lofty heights. Here, life breathes raw and real, A tapestry of moments that we feel. So let the eagles soar, the mountains stand, I'll find my solace on this humble land. For in this view so often overlooked, A deeper wisdom can at last be booked. ©bfa040825