The Little Things

Something there is 
in a soul’s composition
that personalizes light
from the connecting threads;

in the weave of mine,
part my art and part divine,
seems to be for the grandiose
some kind of rare blindness
in the mainstream sense,
for I only find it 
in the minute and steeped in
mindfulness,

the larger picture
always blurred and muted,
unacceptably-by-society
dismissing sweeping views;

upon deaf eyes, the waterfalls,
for my soul only hones in on single drops,
the silhouette of an insect’s wings
even beyond the forefront flowering.

Too far away are the large and obvious;
I slip into the inconspicuous, 
secret portals and nooks 
that scan my soul
and recognize me in my
slow and scenic way home. 

Don’t take me to the lookout point; 
take me to the mountain where I can climb
to admire all the wonder along the trail.
The view at the top can never be the peak:
for me it can only be

in the little things. 

You can hike with me
if you have the patience,
for a mile in nature 
won’t get you fit,
but if you’d like to sit
awhile beside me,
I wouldn’t mind
the company,

but no attention would I be able to give you
when the sun sets on a solitary bee upon a pink bloom… 

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

6 thoughts on “The Little Things

    1. I haven’t noticed nor thought about my growth as a writer, but it has definitely been the case in my personal journey, so perhaps they are related. 😊 I love that you describe it as tangible! Thank you ❤️

      Liked by 1 person

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