
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.
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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.
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A delicate shadow
creeps over its edge,
tiny,
yet significant.
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I fall into a rhythm
with the others around me:
dozing, rising, gazing,
marionettes
to a common cosmic force.
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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.
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As the pollinators retreat,
their steady whispers,
give way to
a collective bated breath.
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And then it’s dark.
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Tears of unknown origins
cascade down my cheeks.
My mind is vacant,
devoid
of familiar emotions.
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Is this awe?
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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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