My bike leaves two trails -
Green snaking behind me in the dew;
The creek banks below are carpeted
So thick with dew, it's frozen sheen.
The sun has wakened late - first shift:
Dogs are walked, tennis joined;
This crystalline beauty's hardly shared.
How did I chance on this vivid tableau?
Why for me to enjoy it and write,
Who'd freeze it in time,
Had I a camera within reach -
Was it meant for my eyes today?
Ripples of iced-green Bermuda
Roil interspersed in scrub oat
Among patches of green other-hues,
Dropping off banks of spiderwort.
Ah, now the clouds have strayed,
The dew burns into vapor - dried ice.
Though the magic remains, whispering . . .
It has withdrawn in the face of commerce.
The brief glimpse, like satori,
Melts as quickly as the dew:
Nothing fleeting as nature's smile,
Nor lasting as it's teasing lure.
