Sometimes we are given the most glorious days...a tribute to the gift
Just A Day
It was not special, or marked as a date
Of significance, not red-circled
For the forgetful,
No card shopping or stamp required.
It was just a day in November.
Just a day....
With skies painted that unbelievable blue
Of remembered summers,
Leaves dancing in gold and crimson glory,
A day when grass seemed greener, almost spring-like,
One last preening before frost
Laid its shivering cloak,
Birds warbling, feeling a need to finish
Every song, hit every note...clearly mocking
Winter and its coming silence,
And the air, so crisp and clean, a breath of season,
Carrier of vibrant dreams and pungent autumn.
It was just a day...
But it was perfect... it was November.
And for that moment
It was the only day in existence
That ever mattered.
You and I have talked about, 'Good and great' days. These words make it impossible for others to attempt to describe such phenomenon. Reading it, I hear your voice, and its impact is deeper, and I want to weep. Your poetry comes from depths which few of us are able to reach. Take care of that wonderful and special gift.
-Bill
You've made just a day an extraordinary day Myrna. The beauty of your poem makes me more aware. I find myself looking more for the beauty of the moment.
Much love,
Marcia
Explore the mystery of how nature makes unexpected gifts of creative wonders to an unsuspecting caregiver one late night and early morning in southeastern Georgia, USA.
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-Bill
Stunning work that captures the reader, and draws us into the delightful and tangible atmosphere of your eloquent words..
Blessings
Peter
Much love,
Marcia