The Soul's Eye

        Before the eye, a gift of Divine craftsmanship.

            This side of the window, classical guitar strums melodies into the silence,

into the heart.  Beyond the glass, bright-white, summer light of the far north in June,

     lights forested foliage in the foreground of undulating mountains of purple hues.

                  

                       Outside the window the spreading fingers of Blue Spruce
bounce on drafts of breeze.

         A new birch stands there too; fraying,

 thin peels of its skin as its trunk bends with the drafts of air.

The two stand tall to frame the window whose full expanse mostly takes in the still waters of a glassy pond. Glassy by turns, alternating with ripples made from beneath and above; ripples of surface-skimming fish feeding on spring’s abundance of insect flotillas, ripples of the wind brushing across this small pool of melted run off.

 White light brilliance cedes to clouded shadows only to return again as clouds traipse across the sky. Cattail growths, wetland steeples of birdsong and nests, merge with the shore as well as spread out to deepening waters.

Of a sudden, the pond’s smooth facade is surprisingly broken by a lone surfacing Loon in brief repose from its fishing tasks, black and white markings glistening in the lighted arena of the pond.  

Plump Lupines in purple pastels punctuate the rolling shoreline in plumes of knee high color. A contrast to these floral spires, the purple Iris sports its white striped petals as “tongues” tasting the nectars of spring.

Both stalks perennial arrivals to spring’s performance around these Adirondack shores; 
much like the human soul whose eyes drink it all in,
basking in natures Divine source.