Gaia's Garden : Library : Poetry

The shift from blues to greens
through yellows and oranges
as the fiery red glow emerges triumphant and glorious:
a vibrant canvas spreading out wisping brush strokes of candied clouds.

A creaking of unfolding limbs, the slow
squeaking
rhythm
of leaves being munched;
the gurgling and squelching from the compost heap;
the rhythmic flutter and hum of morning insects;
chatterings and tickings;
poppings and sighs;
knockings and stretchings
as the garden moves in time to the dawn.

The urgent and joyful cheeping and clattering fills the trees;
the sky giving burst to short sharp shouts of a morning alarm -
the machine gun rattle of magpies,
the clawing cries of seagulls.
the caws of the corivdae...

The air is alive with voices.

The sweeping canvas tuns back to fresh blues
swirled with milky clouds and shining vapour trails as dawn is left behind
and the sun climbs over the morning bells.