Mostly

Mostly

She sits alone in the pre-autumn warmth on a grassy hill covered with wildflowers.

Purple cone flowers rise high above the sedge brown grasses,

Yellow black-eyed Susan’s smile upon the meadow,

Little pale blue flowers, for which she knows not the name, sparkle in the sunlight.

The sun’s glow penetrates her skin flowing deep inside her, warming her heart.

She is tranquil, she is content, mostly.

*

She watches a large amber and black butterfly flit above the flowers,

lighting upon a saffron bloom, then taking flight again, floating on the gently breeze.

She thinks it looks so much like the definition of freedom to watch the winged jewel.

Swallows glide on invisible currents of hot air, cutting through them,

dipping their wings and nabbing insects with stealth and beauty.

Birds of many sorts trill, sing, chirp in the trees at the edge of the prairie,

their songs carried on the soft, summer air.

She is happy, mostly.

*

The hum and buzzing of insects becomes deafening,

and then ceases as quickly as it had swelled from nothingness.

In a far off pond, frogs can be heard croaking, like bells in a church steeple.

To her the sounds are like a symphony,

filled with the melodies of strings, percussion, and horns.

Her eyes travel across the wildflowers to the edge of the lush forest in the distance.

She sees a doe and two fawns, standing in tall tawny colored grasses.

As though they had perceived her gaze, heads raise,

ears twitch and eyes alert in her direction.

Then, as if again comforted in their knowledge that all is secure,

heads bow to the succulent shoots that the coolness of forest shadows have kept green.

She smiles, she is pleased, mostly.

*

She comes to this place to find her peace.

She is comforted with the natural beauty.

It is, to her, like a deep massage,

an opportunity to rid herself of the tensions and stresses of her everyday life.

The consuming gracefulness of the place soothes her, makes her calm,

takes from her all unpleasant thoughts.

It is relaxing and serene.

And, she feels herself succumb to its influential repose, mostly.

*

Today she sits almost at peace, almost tranquil, almost carefree.

There is only one thought she cannot seem to relinquish to the grassland.

There is but one sentiment that will not glide away on the summer breeze.

There is but one image that she cannot place upon the the butterfly

and make it float away on gentle wings.

*

She misses him.

He is to her a meadow, a peaceful, easygoing feeling.

He brings a warmth, a kindness, a sweetness, like her prairie and her sun.

His smile is like the wildflowers, his essence like the butterfly,

a sort of freedom that rises above the typical world.

His words are like the songbirds’ melodies.

All that, all that he is to her, she misses.

She is happy, mostly.

But, she misses him.

copyright 1997