Writing by light

     There’s a bright golden haze on the meadow....................................

It’s an evening that the honeysuckle has to itself,
in unexpected corners,
found still and half sunlit,
pouring itself unexpected,

scented, vibrant, silent.
each moment its own saviour
each instant new with ripplefurled leaf
and petal thriving and striving,

hearing what we cannot,
still knowing what we have forgot
Roots in earth, flower in time with the sky.
Our forgotten time, that we just let slip right by . . . . . .

   --by Stree
      --11/18/07
--entered by MayarOwl 1/24/08
  --line under title added for Stree on 3/16/2014