Meadow Retreat
by Karen O’Leary

At the edge of the meadow,
my feet meld into clubmoss,
nature’s moist, soft message,
releasing metatarsal spasms.

Leaving the office chatter
at the edge of the meadow,
the rustle of red maples
and a meadowlark’s serenade

message my taut muscles
with their mellow music.
At the edge of the meadow,
I pick wildflowers, a rich

multi-colored gift so freely
given. I drink in a moment
of the menagerie’s comfort
at the edge of the meadow.



 

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