The Meadow

I have never been so in love
with the texture of a place

The way the blue bells clump
along the stream
that trickles through the meadow

the splash of yellow buttercups
that rise and fall
over gentle mounds of grass

The proud bistort

lifting their white heads skyward
each in varying stages of ascent

And then a pop of purple
All set against massive grey canyon walls

Carved out by time and elements

The softness of this meadow
The magnificence of these peaks

This perfect early morning breeze

Making the flowers sway
Backlit by the coming of day
Each dancing to a slightly different tune

Years can pass without seeing
a beauty like this
But when you find it
You realize this what your soul
Was asking for