Chirps  deep inside  the dusty bushes,

accompanied by  low, long mournful tones

of wheels turning against the pavement.

A hidden lemon chiffon sun brightens the  sky

somewhere behind  layers of  melancholy  mists –

softly  warming  the  mahogany branches

of starkly naked springtime trees.

I made no special plans for today-

no periwinkle blue  shoes or silken  amethyst  dress.

Instead, I recline on soft linen  pillows

and  write on ashen  journal pages. 

Tranquil.  I listen and watch.

A gloomy opening of a hillside cave

unravels  through my thoughts.

From somewhere in the Eastern world,

stories of old dreams continue to be told.

 I contemplate  the meaning of this day.

Lynda McKinney Lambert. Copyright, 1999 , 2013, 2025

All rights reserved.