Monday, November 28, 2016

A Little Fury

It was a magical silver wood,
all glittering with the dew,
where the light gleams through morning's seams,
and fairy wings are not lack-luster,
speaking of iridescent things.

A furious thunder storm sprang up, threat-laden
from the other end of the garden,
where the hummingbirds and bumblebees
hang on florets, like tea bags in steeping tea,
sipping the drifting transient fragrance
before darting into the forest oak trees
that are solid before the fury.
The grey squirrels and the rabbits scurried,
even their young were hurried
into their burrows before the wind.

The storm haphazardly whipped
the evergreen branches root to tip,
scattering fern fronds hither and thither;
the aristocratic deer will not today delay,
though they usually in these paths meander,
drinking the nectar from flowers of clover.
The rain melted the blue and green
into rivulets pristine.

Emily Isaacson