The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.
Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made
is star-stuff too?
– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –
dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.
Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.
Monday, 29 May 2017
100-word prose poems from Sheena Odle
The woods are singing spring – in cuckoo call, in the juicy green of new beech leaves, in the air that smells of growing things. Perched on a lichened log, I let the life-energy around me flow into and calm my too fidgety mind. I share my seat with tiny scurrying insects; a kaleidoscope of primroses, dog violets, celandines and sorrel lines the path. Behind me the first bluebells are opening and, as the warmth of a shaft of sunlight releases their scent, foraging bees arrive. Bird music, butterflies, all these flowers, the magical and healing trees – I feel so blessed.
Dimpsy – how I love the word, and the time of day. Between dog and wolf a world of wonder lies, as birdsong falls away and the garden holds its breath. This is a potent silence, full of unspoken meanings. The diminishing light is reborn in the petals of white columbines and roses; pale moths appear with the first stars. Now is the moment to wait, to be prepared to learn. Even harder, to believe. At threshold moments like this it seems heartbreakingly possible that we could return to something that we have lost, but know in our hearts to be ours.
© Sheena Odle
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