“Sunday Afternoon”

“And then my heart with pleasure fills

and dances with the daffodils” — William Wordsworth


I walked into nature today,

not the nature I know,

although the cicadas sound similar,

if less insistently symphonic

then still cymbalic.


Nature’s static

crackled across the

antennae of trees;

broken phrases punctuated

by beautiful words.


Words like Wordsworth’s

lonely, long-white clouds

and blissful solitude,

flooding in with the tide

through the mangroves.


Those trees strike a note:

ecosystem engineers

which survive daily change

orchestrated by cosmic force

(and the cicadas)


I came no closer to knowing

the secret of life.

But, perhaps I came closer

to life.

Maybe that’s the secret?


2 thoughts on ““Sunday Afternoon”

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