|Found at last|
|A Gentle Mist|
A gentle mist rises
from the pond I sit near
birthing a rainbow in the cool sun's light.
A water hen fusses her way
through the rushes at the verge:
crying with a raucous call, to her young ones
as they scatter across, the stretch of water.
Small fish break the surface, as they hunt down
midges newly hatched: to make a breakfast.
Here and there a swirl, as a pike, in turn
skims his meal, from the little fish.
I sit unseen, as a heron, lands upon the further bank
and stands, like a preacher, in his pulpit; looking down
not at a congregation, but for frogs or eels.
It is the start of a summer day.
inspired by the three lines of Michael O'Donnell's 'Gentle Morning' Ben Grader 2001.
Michael O'Donnell was a young American poet who contributed to the original Poets Quill website. His work showed great promise. Unfortunately when Poets Quill ceased to be I don't know what site he moved to, and lost touch.
When I finally started to organise my JPG lostfiles renaming and sorting them into categories, I found at last the picture that I knew that I had, had. I thought it lost completely and it was very suitable for the introduction of his 3 lines that stimulated my work back in 2001.