Posted on June 29, 2020
by Elan Mudrow
There is this quiet motion
When wind brushes trees,
Branches bend, a timeless marriage…
When there are the smells of summer,
Sticky pine and soft cedar…
When rivers are a language,
Creeping through echoes of green…
When shadows move, slow, deliberate
Undecided between dream and reality…
When the soft ground molds to feet
A carpet compiled by all seasons…
When hands make imprints
In the momentary wet sand…
When mountains are careful
with the selection of words…
(Click on image to enlarge. “The Movement of Lines”)
Category: UncategorizedTags: Art, Author, Blog, Books, Life, Love, Nature, Photography, Poem, Poetry, Reading, Uncategorized, Writing
Powerful and peaceful…..love this!
Nice combo of forms – very evocative!
LikeLiked by 1 person
absolutely magical, shot and poem. there is so much magic in nature! 🙂
I like when ‘rivers are a language’ . I feel the same.
Thanks so much Judy
Beautiful! I miss poetry!
Thanks for turning my attention to the quiet permanence of one of nature’s faces. These days i need that.
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this work makes me hear “quiet”, if that is a thing you nailed it.
You’re so welcome! Hope you are well and safe. 🙂
Love the last two lines, your poem describes a place Ițd like to be right now :))
Nice post 🙏
Beautiful. We have a Victorian cottage garden with a well and a stream I planted A wildflower strip along the stream that runs the length of the back. Butterflies and Bees birds and all manner of insects feast and fly around it. A neighbour asked why I had not m=strimmed the weeds …
I really like this! I love poetry about Nature
Thanks so much Hollie.
Thanks Joan. There’s a bit of neighborhood pressures for lawns around here as well. Some have adopted wild yards, which I tend to like. But even those can look perfected to human standards.
Thanks so much!
Thanks my friend.
I love every word of this piece!
This is so lovely!
I love this line “A carpet compiled by all seasons…” Around here, grass is expected to be Chem-lawned, mowed on the diagonal, and raked free of leaves within days after they fall. I love paths and trails in wooded areas where clippings, twigs, and leaves are left to their own devices. The last two lines reminded me of a line from a fav poem, Marie Howe’s The World: “The oak tree seemed to be writing something using very few words.” Well done. I always look forward to seeing you in my Reader, Elan. 🙂
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So many ‘appeals’ to our senses. Much appreciated…and admired.
Favorite line: When wind brushes trees…
Interesting juxtaposition of “smells of summer,” followed by tactile descriptions “Sticky pine and soft cedar…” Good stuff! [Yes, I’m eloquent. ;->]
Enjoyed this. A good piece of work.
LikeLiked by 4 people
This one is beautiful- I enjoyed the flow and lines. Perfect
“When hands make imprints in the momentary wet sands…” my favorite lines in a very beautiful poem.
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