COUNTRY LANE

Wild chicory leans toward morning,

mirroring the heavens

Wild chicory leans toward morning

as it sings a silent hymn to the sun.

The stately swaying of Queen Ann’s lace

marks a quiet country road.

And we wake, you and I, knowing they are there

beyond the silent walls.

We wake and the day begins;

you to your tasks, I to mine –

apart, yet one, my love.

Your tractor rumbles in the distance

like some benevolent behemoth

as I gather clothes filled with warm sunshine

from the springing wires.

The sweet faces of the chicory blossoms

peek out at me like mischievous children

from their unauthorized hideaway in the berry vines,

bidding me come look for treasure.

And I know, my love,

you too are surrounded by joy.

That the potpourri of summer fills your senses

with the intoxicating awareness of life.

The sun settles comfortably on the horizon,

touches our world with honey-colored splendor

and slips beneath the blanket of night.

The fringed faces of wild flowers

have closed gently with the fading day

and now fireflies gild the meadow with diamonds.

We sit at rest on the front porch.

We have no need to touch just now

for we are one in that deeper place

where our spirits dwell.

You sip your coffee and talk of everyday things.

I prop my bare feet on a chunk of wood

and listen to the rhythm of love

that runs like soft music through your words.

Queen Ann's Lace

We sit at rest on the front porch.

We have no need to touch just now

for we are one in that deeper place

where our spirits dwell.

You sip your coffee and talk of everyday things.

I prop my bare feet on a chunk of wood

and listen to the rhythm of love

that runs like soft music through your words.

So much, my love,

we have been so richly blessed.

To know the quiet ease of heart,

this belonging of one to the other.

To know life’s storms may sweep away

or even destroy so much that is without.

But also to know that what we hold within

the circle of our love is inviolate..

As willow-soft as the chicory plant,

as regal as the Queen’s lace,

as enduring as the earth we love so much.

This is the  love we share.

This is the world we touch.

Donna Swanson c.2010

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About dswan2

Poet, author, columnist, lyricist, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, wife of 50 years. Born and raised in America's Heartland
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