The oars on the boat rowed
as if they had a mind of ther own.
Indeed the entire day seemed to possess
a consciousness,
a sentience,
a being.
The gentle morning light beckoned the day on,
and the heat from the suns' rays sizzled as they met the cool breeze.
Afternoon came and the wind whispered,
the trees danced,
and the flowers gossiped endlessly,
as the lake chuckled in the wake of the rowing boat,
small as it was.
The burning light of fire gave way to soothering rays of dandelion;
soon the reeds along the lake side drooped with the weepeing willow
as if sad the day was passing so quickly.
The light shining on the crystal surface under the boar
transformed gradually from yellow to
orange and
red to
pink and
violet and
blue until finally
all that was there was
a streak of silver across the water.
The man in the moon looked down and smiled on the boat
as it rowed itself further and further out,
ignoring the appearance of night.
Copyright Michelle Post
