Afternoon at the Lake

There is a moment,
in the depth of the afternoon,
when the summer sun is hottest,
that the soft light of peace gathers
to settle the dust of day.

The tread along the footpath
does not disturb the hum of hushed bees,
nor the meandering of dragonflies
from shore over the center of the lake,
coasting on any errant breeze.

While the blue green algae rests
in a shaded nook along the far shore,
the black crowned heron stands,
motionless, watchful,
awaiting the slightest stir
in the shallows that might signal lunch
—food to fuel night flight.

© 2017 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Stillness Sings

This flower opens to the silence within.
The silence within opens
to the supreme stillness without.
Stillness sings;
the flower knows this
because it is alive:
the song is what draws
the bud to bloom.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Becalmed

Hours beyond the stormy row,
wind has laid down spent arms,
to lay up storm for another day.

But for the soft bobbing of a tiny barque,
smooth as glass the waters lie
as far as horizon gleams in wearied eye.

Sun veiled by clouds belies a warmth,
one meant to beckon thirst
to this floating desert island.

No movement is called for,
and from crew none called forth,
nay, no movement at all.

Forward momentum shall be determined
not by willingness of reasoned effort,
but by serendipitous circumstance alone.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen