Friday, July 28, 2017

Lilacs, Vineyard (Day 191)

If everyone listened to lilacs, 
the way she did that 
spring, the world would be 
light as a butterfly, balanced 
on a spiraling tendril in a 
honey-tinted vineyard. 
In the distance, bells tolled 
the hours, rolling over swelling 
hills in round, velvety tones. 
One day, as she leaned 
close to hear their whispered 
secrets, plump purple cluster 
filling her palm, a page of 
wasp’s nest paper alighted on 
her fingertips. The lilacs trembled
while she read, then hung 
their heads and sighed to see her, 
careful and straight, make her way 
across the upturned field, 
toward an aproned woman 
waiting, screen-door balanced 
against one puissant hip.


(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: Valeria Boltneva