Okay, should I call this now `quarantine poetry´, or what…? Anyway, I came up with this story / poem on Wednesday, and wrote it on Wednesday and yesterday.
Sunshine in the early spring, a peaceful serene day
How peppy, you´ll see, a hare is hopping amidst the dry hay
Time to rest, for a wanderer, by a pond
the scenery´s mellow
A little stream, the sound you seek, when you do not
miss the snow.
A campfire feels like home, she looks up at the tall trees
Evening falls. The forest, the stories... Write now,
no one sees!
- A cheerful greeting - Then a quiet leaving. She says
smiling "That was an owl."
What you do not see is there to be sought, playing
a meaningful role.
Moss all around, the campfire, the scents, out there
is no light
Flames dance in the air, the words, expect nothing, then
feel the might
At night, stand guard, the fire, pen and paper, oh,
how the day is old
Be curious. The hoot - ask yourself what it told.
Embers, morning´s cold, thoughts are fresh on paper,
the day´s birdsong, fair
She steps out of the woods, it´s so bright in a field, now
into the woods hops the hare
Nature has its rhythm, wisdom in the moment, the best
now is the spring
The road goes on, she stops "On second thoughts...",
back to the woods she heads and starts to sing.
- Leena, March 18-19, 2020
