Walking, As She Would

singing, entrancing the winding stream cleaves the high valley grey mist consoles silent sentinels of a remnant sylvan ribbon midwinter dawn excites the sleeping wild rose all is whiteness and the frost is on the slopes the naked orchard anticipates the saw and the secateurs huddled workers around a rusting tractor breathing mist to the mist wait patiently for the diesel to thaw hushed they spy the mountain lorikeets flashing crimson and ultramarine among the branches free from their daily shreak and chatter each one alights alone upon a silver branch perfect silence abounds in the zen moment slowly they begin to chime one to another single notes of living sound ring across the white hollow no temple bell can imitate or artist's brush convey such transcendent beauty the bright-eyed workers stand transfixed dawn's first breath precedes the rising of the sun perhaps it is the deepest sigh of the very queen of heaven walking as she would wakening the minds of men from their long slumber to become aware of her untamed beauty before it fades forever from the world