Saturday, July 05, 2008

The thousand thoughts of self unclenched

The morning after a night of summer rain
I awoke early, restless to be out.

The air was too fragile to burden
with the sounds of a car
or the fumes of an engine.

I cycled, the road whirring beneath me.
I wove along random lanes
turning left and right as took my fancy
with all the plan and purpose of a butterfly.

It was a fine, full, maiden of a morning
and love at first sight for me.
Her hair was the wispy cirrus, her breath the warm breeze
and her firm full curves were the green chalk hills.

Steam rose like wraiths from the vergeside banks.
The air was freshly laundered,
fragranced with floral extravagance
and hung out between the trees to dry.

I was aware of some small miracle at work,
one so delicate I looked away
in case attention gave it fright.

I lay in long damp grass on a bank of summer bloom,
buzzed by flies, stroked by wind, kissed by sunshine,
anointed with dewdrops shaking down
from white cow-parsley heads.

The miracle continued to unfold as self absorption drained away.

The daisy petals were unlocking...
one by one the thousand thoughts of self unclenched.

The temptations, the attitudes,
the justifications, the condemnations,
the excuses, the ambitions,
the dreams, despairs and fears

A hidden spring uncoiled and one by one
the petals of my pettiness unsprung and opened up
to face the sun.

And somewhere just beyond the wide
horizon-curve of consciousness
an old familiar voice, ancient as the stars, silent as the air,
whispered the words I love to hear
'Look at that beautiful daisy down there'.

(c) A McN


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