My activity the last few weeks -- or my "windmill" as Joanne calls it -- has been clearing the land we claim as our yard. It's a hilly, ivy-covered, poison-oak infested area. And I have felt the effects of my work both physically and mentally. Physically, I've done horrors to my neck and back and I am forever going to bear the ill effects of poison oak. Mentally, I feel I've conquered something.
There's a feeling I didn't anticipate, though, that has also come out of it. I can see the trees for the forest. I can see the flowering trees which I never even knew existed. This poem, then, stems from that feeling. [Nice pun, eh?]
Lost amid the brush
hidden in wide open view
coaxed to brilliance
[Thank you, One Single Impression, for helping me see.]