Catch and let go, leaves take the light.
I let them wander into my hand,
praise the breeze that flits them away.
Miracles abound.
Last evening by the fire, light flecked
the walls, throwing shadows, picking
them up, dancing them onto the ceiling.
It is a miracle.
A simple thing, I think, light must be,
but endlessly complex in its activity.
When sun finds itself on earth, it seems
miracles come with it.
———————–
The first line is from William Stafford’s Cro-Magnon (with a phrase from Saint Theresa).
Poems from in between 
you have touched on magic with some of these lines. i especially admire “A simple thing, I think, light must be,/but endlessly complex in its activity.” i love the music, which enhances the profundity your observation.
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Thank you so much for these words of encouragement. I had doubts about those lines, so it is a relief that they worked.
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I like the repetition of “miracle”–the sense of wonder you convey through all–and the fact that you can go in and out of the cave, with sunlight. 🙂
“When sun finds itself on earth”–yes, here is magic!
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Thank you. I feel such a connection to the Neanderthal realm. Not sure what all that means! But maybe I can get a poem or two from it.
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This brings thoughts of caves, ceiling darkened by smoky fires, and men painting the day’s hunt on the walls with primitive pigments.
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Or women — teehee. But , yes. That is what was happening in my head. Has always intrigued me. Thanks as always for your thoughtful read!
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