There are only faint blue lines
on a page bare of words.
A cooling breeze drifts past
my pen poised in waiting
for me to guide its progress.
I sit anxious that my blank page
offers only its empty nothingness.
Nearby towering evergreens
wave their branches in silent salute.
Tiny tree frogs sound large voice.
Butterflies float their freedom
capturing breezes on flitting wings.
Distant traffic gently intrudes with the noise
of others hurrying from or away to something.
Why am I not thrilling, reacting to the
sea of green that surrounds me,
the tall trees with dancing branches,
strawberry plants offering plump bounty,
pansies proud with white blossoms,
soft ferns more often seen in distant forest?
All share their beauty here, now, mine to see.
Too often I look beyond the here
for the beauty I’ve heard to be there.
There is no nothingness.
There are only eyes that do not see,
ears that do not hear and senses
unopened to the gifts that surround,
waiting for minds to bathe in discovery.