Previous Challenge Entry (EDITOR'S CHOICE)
Topic: Park( 10/25/12)
Beyond Sight and Sound
By Loren T. Lowery
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Hearts now hastens to see and hear what eyes and ears cannot - lying beneath the snow - even deeper, beneath the frozen soil. The soft sound of slumber the escaping murmurs of dreams. Fertile field - set apart - what secrets knit within your womb – what hushed visions dance within your bedchambers?
Icy pond, mirror now fogged with frozen vapors do you wait the brushstrokes of gliding fowl upon your waters - is that what will awaken you? Is summer’s light the sword it carries to pierce your bosom, lance the boil of dearth, and deride winter’s scarcity?
Morning sky now bereft of winging bird that gives air its very grace, do you hesitate in warmer climes that they may linger and frolic in your streams? Do birds call out for you to stay; or do you, with warm Chinook winds, whisper and tease them back to fill this dawning amethyst void?
Hidden creatures, of pelt, scale, and feathers, what shadows veil your secret lairs, your brakes, your dens – your hideaways? Droning bee, dancing butterfly, bobbing firefly; has nature yet to knock at your doors? Does earth’s tilt tumble you out of your refuge? Is Atlas friend or foe?
Flower and bramble, do you wait the gentle warm patter of rain gilded with sunshine? Nubile buds, fragrant with fermented and calming scents; your colors wordless to acclaim, what hesitates your coming forth?
Beneath the trees now bereft of greening leaves, blossoms of spring and hint of summer, I wait. On a bench, beside the icy pond in the fertile fields of Dickinson Park, I wait.
Seasons are but a pupa, which cannot be hastened. Creatures, great and small, each a life beyond ourselves, bide their entrance – their promised coming perched in our souls.
What manner of quiet is this – what manner of dawning peace? Poem of life, never ending stanzas - the future lays waiting in the past. This park, its fields and tenants each a rebirth of a hope and beauty that was and will ever be.
So too my thoughts in remembering them - awaiting their promised return.
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