Shropshire Hills

Monday morning - Longmynd Hotel

A beetle drops out of the tree

And lands upon her glasses

Refusing then to fly away

She comes across and passes

Its tiny form onto my thumb

Where it sits and waits

Then moves one leg at a time

As if it hesitates

Before deciding to fly off

Giving me time to see

The folded patterns of its wings

The careful symmetry

Of dark brown shades, the orange spot

The crenulated sides

As it its body is a shield

Washed up upon the tide

From some forgotten history

Before the conscious mind

Imposed its history making thought

Insisting it can find

Patterns in the universe

And truths beyond the known.

Yet here am I sat quietly

If not quite alone

Finding tales in beetle's wings

When, if the truth is known,

The patterns of the universe

Have all evolved and grown

Without the need for human thought

And if I take delight

In a simple beetle's wings

It should suffice - alright?

Brian HIck 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 2.8.22