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.

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