Still Sings the Meadowlark

Roxanne Griffin  -  Boomer - Fort Collins, CO

I took a walk today

under a heavy blue sky

along a narrow path lined

with windblown grasses.

The rhythmic beat

of heel, toe, heel, toe set

sounds of pea gravel underfoot

into a mantra

of unwavering intervals.

Intervals that went quiet

at waters edge

where I stopped

long enough to feel

the effortless glide

of a Northern Shoveler

making its way across

the hungry pond

that had swallowed

the sky above

clouds and all.

Turning back to the trail

I continued up

the hill reaching

its crest marked

by an exclamation point of sorts,

A singular spike of mullein

gave respite to

Spring’s harbinger.

Its yellow throat

had captured the sunlight

between the clouds

and sang it out loud.

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