This morning a group of tourists stopped by the cottage.
They were a noisy bunch,
Fluttering and chirping around the pokeberries
at the shrubby edge between
mowed and wild.
When I returned to the back porch,
there must have been twenty or more,
nervously flitting from berry to berry.
on their way to somewhere
stopping at our pokeberry bushes
The click of the camera
and they flew off,
in an unknown beguiling language.
I took my seat reverently
in the wet grass of the leafy cathedral
and waited for their reappearance;
but their stomachs were filled with purple berries
and they were off in search of the next rest stop.
A golden aura of wonder and delight remained
In the silence of the morning
my prayer ascended in the bright sky:
for glimpses of the unordinary
in the ordinary.
And then the shy local fellow came into the shadows
to enjoy apples and stolen corn for