It's Still Life

Her Wet Feet

It’s late.
It’s early.
It’s the short season.

Grey mirrored sky.

Spring’s
wind and rain,
snowdrops between

rising grass through moss,
pine needles,
and brittle leaf mould.

Fading daffodils
worms squirming underground,
first bumbling bees

in a tulip’s throat

winter’s death proclaimed.
First spring forest walk
a look at what’s outside.

Wet Feet,
cuffs flecked with mud,
and down I go.

Leather shoes slip
into mud cold as
a dog’s nose.

And I’m sleepwalking

into regenerative green
above the horizon
at Cowdray’s Warren.

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It’s April, and that means it’s National Poetry Month! Written for Miz Quickly’s 1 April/24 prompt “wet feet”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2024.