Creation Hard frozen in some time-plagued realm till purity can overwhelm the seed of beauty turns in sleep and sprouts a root, from somewhere deep then sends a shoot to wind through rocks as something new towards daylight stalks. Ready now to face the light it tears apart its safe, soft night. And while the making lingers long when silence turns the birds to song a bit more truth endures a birth to, small and green, adorn the earth and also lighten, just a bit this piece of fate on which I sit.
Carol Casey lives in Blyth, Ontario, Canada. Her work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and has appeared in The Leaf, The Prairie Journal, Synaeresis, The Plum Tree Tavern and others, including a number of anthologies, most recently, Much Madness, Divinest Sense, Tending the Fire and i am what becomes of broken branch.
Grand Little Things 