it begins with a walk
through sweet bee fields
between trees that speak
of mornings beneath
the mountain’s gaze
left far behind
when the wanderer
became the lost
it starts with the tread
of regretful soles
along the streams
where the northern birch
drink the day
and point the way
through the pass
passed by
what feels like
so very long ago
walk soft by the step
where the stone cat rests
keeping her watch
over discarded gardens
where it began with a walk
from the sweet bee fields
from the trees that breathe
an entreaty of home

© Sarah Whiteley


  1. serenity, is indeed hard to find. effortlessly, you have written something here that’s calming to the senses, a serene feel that’s rare to catch these days. 😀



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