on a lark

On a lark, 

I set out on a journey one winter's night,

the road was slick and icy and not plain of sight.

Without looking for magic, it came to me,

.beauty in the form of ordinary things to be.

I passed by barns the color of raspberry pie,

while huge flakes of snow fell from the sky. 

Each flake took on a different shape,

gently falling, swaying as it went, like a cape.

against the snow, 

Glorious golden and smoldering light, 

glowed in the night.

Time moving out of step, I chased,

not linear but out of place, time, and space.

now on foot, I traveled deeper, the snow blew by in the night air,

and the sun began to rise with what appeared to be, great care.

creatures of the night, peered out here and there,

speaking in languages that were not so clear.

I passed dancing bears and foxes tucked in near, 

to tight places and i think i had tea with a deer.

Slowly, I was greeted with 

a magnificent

event, really no more than a tent.

Floating and hovering,

in the early morning late night, 

it was a very welcome sight.

On a lark,

I stepped inside and fell asleep, i woke in a dream 

took out my pens and sketched the scene.

Trying in vain to give it meaning,

not understanding... nothing was clear, everything was leaning.

with serendipity and amazement,

some days are like this, open your arms to life and welcome it.