The art of word and image


It was dusk from the bottom up --

the landscape

iridescent over

dark hues of normal.

Everything stopped breathing --

or breathing just enough

every eye focused on

all that was.

Sound was gone --

song of the goldfinch

chirp of the cicada

neighbor cutting wood.

The garden --

jewels on a queen's robe

lit up    visibly the

brilliance of a diamond ring.

At night --

in the middle of a day

on the prairie    within

the eye of Spirit.