This is what the evening meadow looks like
This lovely little poem was prompted by Robert Lee Brewer and his Poetic Asides prompt, “This is what ____ looks like.”
This is what the evening meadow looks like.
If you look, you can see it.
The meadow, it shines
If you stand quietly in it, in the middle of the purple vetch, beside the thistle, it’s clearest in the evening, when the sun shines slanted and there is an urgency which cuts more sharply across the meadow and reaches out to the small places inside your heart.
To the low soothing hum of the bumble bees, vibrating out over the vetch and yarrow, disturbing moths just winding up and butterflies just winding down, bending blossoms and dusting pollen into the oblique daylight moments layered upon each other; a lullaby hum for the night.
At the swallows swooping thru the thick, still air, long shadows rolling and weaving over the clover, lifting and bouncing off grass stems, wings disturbing, seeds scatter, lift up in a flutter on umbel wings to float the golden light.
A calm growing as the light fades and the stillness begins to cover the meadow, cool descending into the warm air, lifting it gently, drying the blossoms, sticky from the day’s effort, the hum, the buzz, calming, sinking, fading.
And say nothing, but watch the last orange sunlight reach the tallest tips of the tallest grassy blossoms, arch over the meadow and glimmer like so many fireflies and wink out.