Purple Haze

A purple haze

spreads,

growing

every which ways.

Now released from

winter frost’s firm glaze.

The woods waited

to leaf mulch graze.

Watchers,

nature lovers

held their breath

remembering

the perfumed days

last year.

Ambling,

transfixed in praise,

a pilgrimage

of anticipation,

following trails

and quiet ways.

A waiting time,

a slow gestation phase.

Slowly it begins;

Wee dark green spikes rise

from the dank mud

fighting thru’

in cold march air.

So few

weak sunny days

soft, soft sun rays.

April conjures

a mist of mauve

that slowly

deepens into

the long awaited,

ethereally floating

purple haze.

Keep seeing beauty.
a little concentration on something pretty.
by Andrew Shaw

Arch Angel

Diminutive little golden flower

Set me in mind of Joan of Arc

Armored helmets

One atop the other

As if spiked on a hat rack

Standing firm in the late hour

With such determination set

Cathedral bells toll

And in full voice

Soars a skylark