It is the thick of the summer.

The wild flowers

are celebrating.

 

From out of the grandfather rock with its stoic brown faces,

from the black, bleak surfaces

of the precambrian,

they come.

 

Yellows and rusts and golds,

blues that set the 

sky on notice.

​

Brave pinks and purples,

they are all here

born of winter.

 

They are unapologetic

of their small stature. 

their diminutive 

frame.

 

They are in a rare mood

Bright with possibility,

aflame with color,

the urgency of life

chasing itself

in the morning’s

rising.

 

It is a grand get-together.

A soiree of guests

wandering the grounds, 

mingling, mixing,

thrown together by

slow winds and

sultry restlessness.

 

They capture today.

They are children

of a torrid sun,

parched,

passionate,

persistent, 

pleasing.

 

Oh world!

How rich that we

can squander our sight

on the road ahead

 

while the shindig 

carries on 

beneath our feet.