In my solace I stole away
from the Tea House after
working for most of the day,
ready for an idyllic repast,
a petite basket in my hand,
my wages tucked away in
an old cocoa tin; and as
I turned left by the lane
I caught the scent of young
roses in the air, the sky once
so bright and gleaming, now
the pale hours before evening.
A bicyclist swept past me;
an elderly citizen walked
her Pomeranian. I followed
the peaceful, fluttering path
of a butterfly, and I found
my way to the silvery river.
There on the grassy shore
I pulled out my unlined
notebook, begun with
a prayer from the heart,
and drew the natural life
all around me: the flight
of swallowtails, how they
arced in the sky; the curiosity
of dragonflies in the early
illumined night.


© by Bobbi Sinha-Morey.
Used here with the author's permission.