Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Into the Mystic...

Misty spring mornings conjure images of Avalon. It hangs low over the newly budding land and drips along the banks of the river. It called me out to the bridge, a new place I've not yet been. 
 The bark on the trees glows in the moisture like freshly wet silk. 

 Striking features are illuminated. 

And dew quenches baby leaves.

A bridge between worlds, I walk into the mist with no expectations. I hear the rippling water and hazy breath of the forest. The smells floating are of watermint and cress.

I open my pores to the humid touch. 

And gaze quietly at the heron.




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