The same arms that stretched out of a restful night,
sought to give liberty to aged, wooden shutters,
battered by gale force winds more than twice in their lifetime.
Sensitive, round nostrils still twitched at the residual smell of turpentine,
while fingers,
slower and arthritic, felt for the familiar chill of metal braces.
The rusting steel bolts resisted, but eventually cowered under ginger
pressure,
and stiff hinges gave way with each worn creak
to misty rays of light, borne from the east,
that mingled with old friends as they slowly progressed,
poignantly aware of their inevitable demise in the west.
Salty sprays from a rowdy ocean become re-acquainted
with the soft breeze, that lulled sea foam into clandestine coves,
and both, forgetting they had met every single day before,
fell into each other’s beauty once again;
quite gently
and came to finally rest over mahogany cheeks…
lingering,
but for a moment.
The scurry of anxious paws, and scratching feet
both known and unknown began their day
under foliage of green and flaxen tones.
Branches that have danced for generations before,
sway in time to the rhythm of life fluttering above,
below and beside them,
anxious to teach their tribal rhythms to generations to come;
but for the moment, their eclectic beats, ever changing in the easy
gusts,
enlighten ears protected by a cotton scarf
tied over thick black plaits, greying ever so lightly.
Bright mauve, burnt orange, sky blue.
Colours have risen out of clay and loam,
dew has bathed them, reaching far and wide over limestone.
Fevergrass and sage have begun to cast their spells,
addictively combined with the scent of freshly baked bread;
and as the globe of fire climbs higher, signalling the hour
for once outstretched arms
to till, to plant, to feed
to carry, to guide, to teach;
a flurry of wings will rest,
and from its perch,
a turtle dove will begin
its haunting morning call.
My
Inspiration: A turtle dove singing outside my window (2014)
© KohylahPiper 2015
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