Untitled
Like a mother duck
With her chicks
weaving through and around the vendors
And the traffic horns
We move toward our mountain.
We climb and pick up trash
As we go;
Rounding corners and
Stepping out of a wooded path
Into a vista of mountain and trees
Birds are singing and
A small breeze softens
Across my face
I hear the sounds of my students,
My Chinese treasures,
Sometimes talking
Sometimes quiet.
What are they thinking?
The sound of trash being crinkled,
The swish of a plastic bag.
We have come together
To re-claim this place.
We are hunting buried treasure…
Stands of bamboo
Tiny purple violets
Pine trees
Wu tong shu
Green ferns
Moss covered rocks
Butterflies
We fill our bags
Again and again...
Until they are bursting.
Surely the people who come behind us
Will stop to rest their weary legs
Here and there.
There eyes will take in what we have unearthed
They will take deep breaths
And then their heart will soar
like the notes of a songbird
At the beauty of nature,
Refreshing their spirit
Like a cool waterfall
On a dense, close, hot day...
Never knowing we came before...
With her chicks
weaving through and around the vendors
And the traffic horns
We move toward our mountain.
We climb and pick up trash
As we go;
Rounding corners and
Stepping out of a wooded path
Into a vista of mountain and trees
Birds are singing and
A small breeze softens
Across my face
I hear the sounds of my students,
My Chinese treasures,
Sometimes talking
Sometimes quiet.
What are they thinking?
The sound of trash being crinkled,
The swish of a plastic bag.
We have come together
To re-claim this place.
We are hunting buried treasure…
Stands of bamboo
Tiny purple violets
Pine trees
Wu tong shu
Green ferns
Moss covered rocks
Butterflies
We fill our bags
Again and again...
Until they are bursting.
Surely the people who come behind us
Will stop to rest their weary legs
Here and there.
There eyes will take in what we have unearthed
They will take deep breaths
And then their heart will soar
like the notes of a songbird
At the beauty of nature,
Refreshing their spirit
Like a cool waterfall
On a dense, close, hot day...
Never knowing we came before...
Labels: Cleaning Day, Kathy Keil