Today I heard
The all too rare sound of silence
When I took my boots and woollen socks
And with them my feet and legs
And the rest,
From the noisy pebbles
Up to the sea-soft grass that lies
Between stone and rock, and beyond that,
That lapped today no stronger
Than a lake in summer.
It is not quite yet the time for silence,
As winter is loud, at least
To my ears.
But today there were
Catkins, on the willow
Coltsfoot flowers, which I had not seen
I saw a plant I think looks
As if it might be related to chamomile.
I wore my long skirt,
My sisters scarf
And a green hat
I felt as lovely as the trees today,
Well maybe not quite…
But I will say so because
All is silent, but love in this moment,
And if I am not to love myself I am not to love the earth on which I stand.
Am I not the tree?
Am I not the bird?
Am I not the hoverfly?
Am I not the insect that I almost ate,
Upon plucking a gorse flower
So enticingly filled with a scent of coconut and sweet warm sunlight
I looked into the flower and found another being…
Gorse flowers do not taste as they smell
However often you try, thinking that maybe, this once, they will liken primroses, and taste like….
Maybe I am more like the grass.
It was also alive today, stirred by a slightly different breeze…