Song of Light

Inspiration came driving Highway 7 to work a morning last week, or last month. (Not sure.) A glance to the hillside across a pond -- the color was vibrant. (Time stopped.) Then I looked at it directly. More subtle. Just a hint of tone brighter than winter's dead wood. Life so rich. (And expanded--within that moment.) The imagined color was of a memory--the Easter of childhood glee in the hunt for pastel eggs. Bright baskets. Boys in white shirts and cords. Girls petticoated, hats and bows. Church is finally over. Run and scream the freedom call. It's all a song.

Song of Light

Light. Color.
The earth this Spring.
Sometime
Before the first buds open
And leaves emerge from sap-rich twig
There is the Light that anoints
This new awakening.
Though the solar scales are starting the tilt
To longer days
More the lilt of reverence in joy.
Of the blackbird claiming his swath of cattail marsh,
The first mourning dove reflecting in echoes of yesterday
And hoping again, for better days of sun.
More than the sun itself
And clouds reflecting
Lakes mirrored and rippled
This season’s light is of the heart—
The soul of living.

At first I saw it as a pink to golden glow
And a green more yellow than jade
But seeing directly now
My eyes deceived me.
Maybe from weakened mind—
A memory.
No. Not even visual at all.
More the song of meadow lark.
A trickling spring in shadow.
Boléro.

Dreaming
The first touch
Of water-color brush
To cotton-fiber sheen
Complete the scene by artist eye.
The light, the life
And color this Spring.

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