Poetry
Distraction
Lit Up — April’s Prompt: Distraction
I can see it from here, the low slant of the sun’s fingers,
grasping the glimmer of the frenzied activity
of a million tiny wings inhabiting the haze
above the mustard fields.
And I can also hear the bees, their collective hum
hovering, rounding, ebbing, and sounding again,
filling the absence of silence with their energy.
In my mind’s eye, I can see the dust clinging to my feet
as I climb amidst the stubbled rise of eucalyptus trees
hugging the spine of the hill,
until I crest into an arching blue
so deep that you could almost fall into it,
if you allowed yourself to turn your face towards
the vault of heaven.
Distraction.
I poise, pen in hand, my mind meandering the trail,
waiting for the muse to whisper in my ear.
But all that I can hear is the sigh of the pines,
dancing in the soft breath of spring,
and the hummers screeching and diving,
fighting for a nectary treat.
