8 Small Stones

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The greytone world,
Close-observed,
Is all colour.

Imagine:
Every raindrop,
A kiss.

January wind
Sheep blown into corners
Like bleating litter

Wind-sculpted trees:
Perpetual motion
Waveforms

At the summit
I shout my prayer;
Startle ramblers.

My neighbour
Is learning
To sing.
My family
Are learning
To laugh.
Quietly.

Emergent butterfly
Take refuge
In my palm

A rain-laden leaf
Nods a waterfall;
Rises polished and proud