Barn Series 1
Stones
by
Steppenwolf
Gathered on the ground near the drain
Small stones sit in flat configurations
Washed by the clean rain an infinite number of times.
Colors never seen by God or his artists
Nor planned by hired experts
But delicate like an insect’s wings
So subtle that it makes you yearn for something
And you don’t even know what it is.
Maybe it’s a desire to copy those colors
To be the one who could actually do it
To capture what nature does effortlessly.
lgmwriting 