Lying in one morning
a spider came, almost unnoticed,
no more than a slight sensation on the skin,
so easy to brush off with an instinctive disregard,
a subliminal inclination to wipe away.
This black speck the size of two pinheads, no more
entertained me, engaged my focus
with its blackness and minuscule legs.
It’s so easy to sweep things away,
mentally; emotionally; physically;
but is it not the little things that matter most?
At the same time an Eagle Owl, feathers
flutter in the wind on a pylon nearby,
so large but dead for a week, in a
juxtaposition of power and death.
John Edwards © 12th May 2013