The sky is mottled.
Shy and isolated patches
Of pale blue pop in, out
And stretch a bit.
But clouds eat them up
Ever so hungry.
The sun struggles but fails
To melt them away.
They swarm,
Eager to swamp him,
To stop sculpting shadows
And lighting up mayflies
As they hover and skip on muddy waters.
I watch the struggle
Unsure of outcome.
I am a grain of sand
So small I am no matter,
Just an illusion of substance,
A speck of river silt
In a backwater tidal pool.
… but you were a mountain once, and will be again, one day 🙂
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River silt is still stardust, is that it?
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Absolutely!
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I have enjoyed reading your prose! blueridgesprings
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Thank you cbj. Very kind of you to comment and much appreciated.
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I love how this poem sweeps through the grand expanse of the sky to the smallest hidden particle beneath, which personifies the individual. It is often the very thing we value the least that enables the grandest capability. It is our insignificance that bonds us and urges us to be more than what we are.
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Thank you D. You have a way of looking and seeing that is unique and most encouraging. The dichotomy between the two extremes (one of a kind and yet most insignificant) is a real puzzlement.I suppose we are like snowflakes that way.
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Yes, snowflakes. That’s it. When I think of snowflakes in terms of what I felt when reading your poem would be the beauty of a single flake is magnified immeasurably by the entire field of snow. That field is framed in the earth and sky and this is where I find it difficult to breath as I take it all in.
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Often, it is the immeasurable that takes our breath away I think.
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Mmmmm, exquisite tininess – it is a relief, really, that we are but grains of sand…
Loveliness.
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You are right, it is a relief… There is only so much we can screw up!
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Haha…hoping things are shaping up very well for this werkend! Looking forward to hearing all about it… 🙂
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On the Canadian Prairies there’s a saying that if there’s enough blue sky to make a man a pair of pants, then it’s not going to rain.
I don’t know what that has to do with your poem.
G’Bye.
rjb
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And yet I do… Something about optimism … keep on walking eyes on the horizon… it’s not as bad as all that.
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Always the magical metaphors that transport us to a childhood land where clouds are alive and life is full of mystery.
Wonderful.
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Clash of Titans in the sky, yes, at times. And always a quest for understanding.
Merci UnElephant tu me fais toujours sourire.
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