By Madeleine Boga
Curled up in the meadow,
amongst yarrow and purple asters,
in the warmth of morning sun,
the hum of busy insects
lulls me to sleep.
I wake moments later,
sensing a sudden coolness.
With solar-filtered eyes,
I look up to see
the sun’s jagged rays
softened
into a warm, glowing sphere.
A delicate shadow
creeps over its edge,
tiny,
yet significant.
I fall into a rhythm
with the others around me:
dozing, rising, gazing,
marionettes
to a common cosmic force.
The whole earth
pulsates in anticipation,
weaving us together
with an undulating energy.
The light grows dim,
but the sky holds its blue,
staining the surroundings
a nostalgic sepia.
As the pollinators retreat,
their steady whispers,
give way to
a collective bated breath.
And then it’s dark.
Tears of unknown origins
cascade down my cheeks.
My mind is vacant,
devoid
of familiar emotions.
Is this awe?
Whoops and howls echo
from nearby forest nooks,
decreeing our existence,
so big,
and yet small.
Cradled beneath
that star-speckled sky,
we watch
as the luminous orb
curtsies its black cloak,
giving birth
to vivid daylight.
Madeleine Boga is a regular contributor for She Explores. As an Artist, writer, explorer, and vintage shop owner, Madeleine is forever on a treasure hunt. She loves sifting through paper scraps on her studio floor, hunting for a fitting adjective, discovering new trails, and combing thrift stores. Find her on Instagram and see more creative work at madeleineboga.com.
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