What was once -- moments ago -- green is now a healthy straw-brown hue. How a mild yellow sets it off. You can hear the gears of growing. Worms pushing aside dirt for grub. You don't need to imagine a human in the seat of control. All is not still here. A meal and a poem stir. Upheaval is imminent.
Surfaces
ReplyDeleteThe dish of ripe melon, cold and fragrant.
Why the smile when I see you waiting?