Just in case you need to find me.
Where to Find Me
I live quite near a tulip’s shadow,
where it scales a cold stone,
gruff and spotted with moss.
Can you see the hill, still thick with summer,
the one that slips beneath a clutch of silver birch?
There, follow a breeze that’s skimmed
across the pond’s black face,
over the bullfrog’s scalp
as it considered the vitality of mud.
It will weave through the complexities
of a rose thicket, lend its substance
to the passions of a hollow log,
eventually twisting its spine,
sliding like a ribbon
around a gnome, wrinkled and spent,
napping near a feather fallen
from a wren’s quick wing.
My home lies there, just beyond that feather,
quite near a tulip’s shadow,
where it scales a cold stone.
Discover Rick Holliday’s photography. Awesome stuff.