Serenity Field

A theatre of grass,
moments before the rise,
the concert of silence,
Just motion.
Warm push, a heartbeat
of air, warm embrace.
Gray clouds understand,
but do not budge.
As nature is a witness,
of an opening act, to
the final closing of
the velvet curtain,
I am amidst,
a spectator,
a tearful stanchion,
awaiting a show.
Sychronous moments,
choreogrphed bow,
I sway with my
bladed comrades, while
an invisible cloth of
a South West wind,
gently kisses away
a morning tear.
My picture of morning,
my meadow of life.