The morning porch — mine has no railing
beyond the stems of dandelion, red
and purple clover standing too close
to the concrete to be eaten by the mower.
When the first full burst of light arrives,
sun escapes the tangled brush around
the creek and crests the gambrel
of the barn, these wildflowers cast dark
shadows, charcoal against light gray.
I twist the lid from the small jar of water
that lives beneath the window, reach
for the fine-tip paintbrush on the sill,
begin to fill the silhouettes with water.
I work quickly, make dark marks with this
clear ink. By the time I’ve water-painted
a meter stretch of wildflowers, the sun
has risen further, added another tier to our
collaborative design. Occasional butterflies
alight, stop and sip damp clover before
the shadow blossoms vanish from the sundial.
In response to an entry from The Morning Porch.
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