Vendor Writing

The Veil

The chartreuse lace of Spring drops her veil onto the trees.

Soon I will be covered by Her. The wind has blown me all about, never ceasing it seems, this March.

Yet

Soon, I will be covered by Her.

When the fear of unknown people, the noise of dust and traffic is too much;

I can find a quiet spot in a little forest remnant hidden in the city.

A marginal space. A forgotten space No longer considered useful.

A little piece of peace.

A refuge, a quiet spot where rain collects. Sweet birds, even a frog.

And then, refreshed, I emerge to hawk the paper, and talk about refuge for all.