“Many eyes go through the meadow,
but few see the flowers in it.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson
As I descended
a fair meadow’s hill,
pondering as I watched
the sea oats dance,
I saw this glint of color—
no one else noticed,
the conversation
continued around
and behind me
as we surveyed
this pleasant land—
but there, in this tangle
of woven wild grass,
just as a morning
sun let a few golden
strands down, I swept
those blades back
to a tiny world of art.
—C.L. Fisher, January 2022
Unless otherwise indicated, all writings and images are the work of C.L. Fisher and may not be copied, used, or distributed without permission.
Poetic Meanderings 