Mountain Meadow

Purple flowers blossoming in a

Mountain meadow; tiny, white flowers

Shaking off a long, harsh winter;

Hundreds of dark, yellow bees

Climbing pink, floral stems and each

Other – droning, drunk, and alive; the

Musky smell of Douglas fur and

Ponderosa pine in a sun-filled,

Glistening forest nearby; orange

Butterflies with vivid, black spikes

Filling the air, alighting on fragile, tea-

Scented blossoms; tiny, yellow

Moths, skittish, fluttering from

Flower to flower, flush in the

Excitement of their labor, alive;
White flowers with purple splashes
Enticing, attracting the next callers;
The silvery sound of a gushing

Stream and birds singing to each

Other; what is that, a couple wonders

Walking by, reveling in the art of a

Mountain meadow; I don’t know;

I am more the jaguar and not the

Mountain lion; I am more the

Bougainvillea and not these flowers;
But still, I am alive in the intoxicating
Smells, sounds, and colors of this
Meadow; I am alive, arms wide,
Head back, feeling the slight breath of a

Lingering winter and the golden
Touch of the Devine burning my eyes,

Invigorated in the intense splendor of
A new world coming alive.