Seeming silly,

scanning the mountains

and the Lake,

glittering harmonically,

waiting for the spiritual experience

to begin.

Where is it?

The belly full of awe

the butterflies and

eyes brimming with tears

and why am I not feeling

like Goethe yet?

Sweet baby.

And it feels

like no coincidence

that my tired

adolescent clamouring

for a feeling of

infatuation

coincides

with a latent realisation

that my vocabulary

isn’t as expansive

as I had wished

and I need to

look up many words

at the moment

and it is thrilling

and it is humbling.

Mind and language

scattering.

And the storm descends,

cheerful with potency

over the mountaintops,

it’s been clearing

its throat

all day long,

the pine trees

bowing in the wind,

the lightning,

scintillating.

Then the stillness

of the

rain lashing;

the Lake patiently

rippling and receiving

as the storm

roars itself

with delight.

Friday 29^th July 2022