The Still, Warm Arras

Splendid, the dawning day;
Akhenaton’s glorious disk
glowing golden through
the gauzy white haze of
vapour lightly screening the
top of the world. The
sun kissed soil of spring
has released straw lilies
and Solomon’s seal among
the woodland flora so eager
to flaunt their colours.

High above the greening
canopy of the woods a
hawk twists and turns an
aerial ballet, whistling its
boast to the audience
below. A breeze wills new
green shoots to a
companionable wave as a
sole Mourning Cloak
flutters from tree branch to
emerging bracken, disconsolate
that its one true love
has not yet presented.

On the banks of the slowly
gliding stream, water striders
test the current. There,
hugging the soil, emerging clusters
of foamflower, frilly and pale.
A distant counterpoint of
scolding squirrels and
racketing woodpeckers sounds
across the still, warm arras.