A story

Before dawn, a tempest:
the day deciding itself.

Wild with wondering, trees
toss their heads; clouds
churn the brightening sky.

Deer linger in night places;
the small throats of wrens
swell with stifled song.


At sunrise, the wind abates;
trees compose their branches.
Deer emerge;
wrens warble.

The day arranges
its capricious skirts,
offers its capacious lap,
bids you sit.

You have 24 hours,  it says.

Tell me a story.

Make it a good one.








  1. slukwago · · Reply

    I echo Jazz’s thoughtful and smart reflection on your wonderful blog, Rafiki. And I learned two new words today. Which makes it an even better day than it was before I read this poem


    1. Word power! Thanks, Rafiki.


  2. Delightful! And also a challenge … not just any story suffices, what story do I let spill from within into this day? LOVE your depiction of trees composing their branches as day arranges its capricious skirts, offers its capacious lap.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks, Jazz! I’m especially glad you like capricious/capacious. I wasn’t sure whether that’s fun or just a tongue-twister. 🙂


  3. The storm, the calm, the story

    Liked by 1 person

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