Listening to every heart
The Walk with Marge and Sharon
Seemingly all birds and other feathered fowl
are out to greet not us but the
mid spring/early summer day,
grateful for the coolness of the
early morning mist
'neath the gray of the sky,
reveling in the days before
the Kansas sun burns down
to dry the green, green grasses covering
the lands not yet covered by concrete.
Marge and Sharon
walk with me here, in my thoughts,
they would like the cottonwoods
which shimmer even without the sun's light
bouncing off their leaves.
the cottonwood's shimmer,
even in the driest days it will look
as if mist kissed
the broad leaves,
and the very slightest breath of wind
will cause the cottonwood to perform
its happy dance.
Marge and Sharon smile.
Watch for the dance on dry hot days,
just to await that breath of breeze come our way.
Meadowlarks and purple martins,
prairie chickens and split-tailed swallows,
pheasant cock's call mixes with the cacophony of sounds
brought to our senses on the current of
the Kansas winds.
Marge and Sharon's boots would be wet by now,
walking with me through the early grasses
heavy with dew, the cheatgrass being knee high
and feathery soft even tho dew laden.
The cheatgrass seed heads bend low
over its tall stalk, the lighter
green colored head giving it the look
of false romance.
It is just a grassy weed, after all.
Toward the slough I meander, where last
fall's cattails rustle dryly among the new growth;
the red-winged blackbirds congregate,
busy in flight and song,
stretching their wings in mating stance
and the females watch.
Marge is pensive, knowing her
walk with us;
Sharon revels in the feel
of nature itself,
both their minds taking
in all images and sounds,
bookmarking each sight for
further exploration in words.
Somehow, words fail me as I am overwhelmed
with His glorious morning,
as I stand and move
among the thoughts of friends
who would walk here with me
if they could,
to gaze over the valley held in gray mist
that stretches before me, and I am not
alone among the spring's first wildflowers,
purple, yellow, and the heady deep blue
of the cornflower.
6 May, 2000
Look, then, into thine heart, and write ~~~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow