Wisps of cloud
like tongues of fire
rushing silently overhead
O the beauty
of the world outside
our own heads
Seeds of grass
like grains of sand
grow silently under our feet
O the beauty
of the world
when we care to look down
Treebuds
like wrapped bubbles
waiting to burst
O the magic
of spring
when we open our eyes.
Endless navy, endless waves
speckled with white cotton
shining, reflecting what Earth says
letting off a blue sigh
A blue sigh of the waters
with Joni Mitchell and Meatloaf
onto a white blanket
as the planet slumbers
on towards the climate crisis
As we sit here and jet around
only if we did more
for our blue waters
than just feeling blue.
Going back into nature is like returning to an old friend
You can talk for hours and sit in silence
Bask in the silent understanding
While both your hearts mend.
Waking up at the crack of dawn
appreciating the navy heavens.
On the way, thoroughly empty, deserted roads
befriending cats and rats;
for they are the sole souls present here.
Arrived: not silence, but an orchestra
a crescendo of birdsong
and those pesky croaking crows
it’s vomit to my ears
(a rather unpleasant sound);
but then arrive the tits and sparrows
like the violins and cellos,
adding to it all, now more than mezzoforte.
Going towards the lakes these mirrorlike earthly reservoirs of life
not one, not two, not three—but about a million
(a very accurate estimate, believe me)
bleating frogs in unison.
But all falls to silence once the fiery ball comes into view
the ball still covered in cotton wool and packaging pellets
there they are—floating.
Who would have thought that they could, too, be
sources of life and blessing throughout civilisations?
The morning orchestra continues.
Is the sky ever yellow,
just like a sick fellow?
I’d say it’s blue,
but I haven’t got a clue.
Honestly, it looks rather mellow.
In a forest there is a lot of deer;
they run away when you come near.
Everything in nature has its place,
and when you look at it face to face,
you realise there is nothing to fear.