Bells

I dreamt last night
that every blooming flower
had a bell sound,
and I walked with wonder
across the ringing ground,
ankle deep in chiming blossoms,
with blades of grass swaying
and cricket beats battling
in time with the song.

And deep-heart colors
leaked from every
singing bird's throat,
scarlet flung
from a cardinal's beak,
indigo from a bluebird's notes,
the juice of it dripping,
staining their wings
while they sang.

And sunshine on our human skin
felt like a million kisses,
to help all the lonely people.
It dappled the oaks
with green tints and tones,
and both the trees
and the people
leaned into the wind
to clutch the sunshine's gold.

© Sherri Brannon

[iPhone photo edited with Glaze and iColorama apps.]