Treading water


Treading the mint of the buttercupped path

between foxtails and slender threads of flax,

pieces of fallen sky,

through a symphony of birdmusic,

I say I will not let the pains, divers et varies,

parasite the gold and the singing.

But there is a change in the wind,

magpie chatter and the shadow of the buzzard

turn the bright orioles’ song to apprehension.

My step falters

and the pieces of sky are still fallen.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

10 thoughts on “Treading water”

    1. She knows how I feel. We’ve begun to notice how many life and death dramas are being played out in the trees all the time while we’re having our lunch. And the birds keep singing.

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