Napping in the Hostas

“In spring the mountain went violent green, billowing low under the sky. It never came slowly. One morning it would just suddenly be there and the air rank with the smell of it.” – Cormac McCarthy, The Orchard Keeper

Timid sprouts summon
Slumber. Supine, I dream I’m
Engulfed by Hostas,

A cacophony
Of chlorophyll calling me.
Leaves block out the sky,

Voracious, verdant:
Somnambulant wandering
Through leafy green clouds.

Loading Facebook Comments ...

Leave a Reply