to stand before the garden gate,
with arches playing overhead
in symphony of tiptoed light-
live oaks gnarl a spired blur
as mosses blow and filter sun
into shadow and blue glow
angle on the walk below.

the lichens sentry on two posts
of upturned acorn, lifting fruits
to greet the sky, turning cheek
to passersby that walk inside.
arms full open, leaves afoot,
the old gate filters lilac breeze,
while squirrels scuttle on mere whim,
and enter without invitation.

oh, to stand in dappled light;
to breathe the budding and the trees
in sweetness, and allow the blue
to intake, and let shadow fall
upon my own expanse of gray.
oh, to let wild breeze comb through
strands of moss and waves of hair
blown across the live oaks in
the starting spring, at wormsloe park,
on entering. 

(c) Cynthia D'Adamo