Nature as a Writing Prompt

Variegated brushstrokes on canvas
And should we know the painter?
She drew an asylum with no bars
A staircase with no cause
A welcome mat speckled with greens and blues.

Phonographs play ‘birds’ –chirpchirp—
With ‘wind’ its baseline, footsteps keep rhythm,
Going always going.
Characters are molded. Stories are penned.

It's choreography at its best—
A performance piece where every leaf knows his place and every blade of grass bends on cue. The sun plays curtain and we laugh at the right moments.

But he doesn’t feel it.
“Beauty is nothing,” he says “A construct.”
A plastic mannequin.
A fairytale’s daughter, preservatives and fillers.

But she knows better. And with a perfect Fibonacci finger, she presses her lips, “Shhh.”
There are things that he may never understand
Like
Somehow there are 13 petals on a daisy
And that’s why he always loves her
Rather than not.