Things Drift

Poem for contest.

Dandelion seeds
In a soft afternoon breeze
Drifting along invisible currents of air.

Above the dark woods
The hawk, with wings wide and loose,
Drifts, soaring effortlessly high amid the clouds.

Autumn leaves waft down,
Free-falling amid boulders;
Drift, tugged about in the rivers' whimsical way.

Young birds drift from nests,
Called by their heart to fly south,
Trusting that their inner eye will show them the way.

Nature drifts from Spring,
Through Summer, to Autumn, then
On to Winter and back to Spring; always changing.