Nature’s Artwork

I walked alone one early September morning,

And stopped and admired the kelly-green blades of wet grass at my feet.

The sun had sewn prisms of light on top of each blade,

Creating what looked like a field of small, sparkling Swarovski crystals.

 

I noticed that the oak leaves were starting to fall gently below to the ground,

One by one,

Slowly,

Letting go,

Giving up on summer,

Covering the ground and joining the random white mushrooms to create a

Musky-smelling compost.

 

The black and white Border Collie searched the yard for signs of fresh moles,

The sightless creatures tunneling in the rich brown dirt,

Leaving behind their scent for the dog to track.

 

Blue and black feathers with white tips lay randomly

Over the grass,

The result of an unknown battle,

Perhaps between a hawk and bluebird.

 

White clouds gathered in the sky as the hours passed.

Were they preparing for an afternoon concert of thunder and lightning,

Or were the wispy clouds floating lazily by on invisible air streams?

 

The sun finally set hours later,

Peeking behind some lingering clouds,

Like a golden-lined curtain.

 

The black and white collie ran one more time through the grass,

Dodging little frogs that come out at night to feast on an array of bugs.

The dog has learned that frogs and toads and salamanders are not tasty,

And ignores them all.

 

Finally dog and human return to the house,

Foolishly thinking that Nature is getting ready to nap.

But an unseen hand draws a display of twinkling stars and full moon above,

With shadows and shades of grey on the earth below.

Nature’s artwork never ends.

 

 

 

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