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Monsoon Park

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Swarmed by tangled vines
She landed here often
soft as the clouds lifting
after the monsoon rains
It was where she wandered
almost without knowing
and whenever she needed
the world to slow down.
Slipping with green shadows
with whispering bougainvillia blooms
cloistered by pungent shady boughs
she felt peace flowing as silk
and strong arms of iron gates
holding her fast, ornately out of place
sheltering the small park from
blasting, crushing city roars
and lions in the street.

One day, perhaps soon
Or maybe years from now
She would wander down
To the fountain orange grove
Where mothers rolled
Sweets out of baskets
For children, late afternoons
Strolling winding paths
Along the wide river.
But for now this solace
Was her own, breathing in
Voltaire, breathing out
“We are rarely proud
when we are alone.”

Words and space as oxygen
And all of God’s earth her garden

© 2012 S. Michaels
Breakaway – Spreading Wings

Author: LightWriters

Life. Faith. Wellness.

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