Past the Granite Grandeur

of Cassels’ Palladian house, set off

by grounded Pegasus offering the lake,

lie smaller beauties.

Sweet grass sings in morning mist,

the eye of a rigged web cries rain,

a fat brown spider sees all.

He throws his silks from fuschia bush

to burnished tree trunk, while we,

the visitors let our eyes be snagged

by ancient statuary, the gaudy grandeur

of black and gilded metal gates,

while little treasures are hidden in plain sight.

Seek out the jewelled dragonfly,

flashing her semaphore of lush blue light.

Sidestep berry-stained bird scat

splattered on the dirt path, walk on past

a pyramid of fallen feathers, from

perhaps a red grouse,

note their intricate weave and sheen

illuminated in the play of light between

the ancient trees. Be thankful for this bounty.

By Jean O’Brien

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