It is still.
The blueberries glisten in the morning light.
Dew drips off the leaves.
You can hear traffic, rush hour in your village.
a short-lived burst of noise and then silence.
You can hear children, preparing for the day.
You can feel the sun, barely warm,
the first hints of fall in the air.
Goosebumps rise, briefly, on your arms.
unwilling to leave this moment of perfection,
letting the natural still life fill you like new air.
About this poem
It was a busy weekend, and I needed some peace. Sometimes, when it is nowhere to be found, I write my own.
The picture was taken just down the road from my house.