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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 6, Number 3, September 2012

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Diana Webb
Surrey, England, UK


Three Epiphanies

Epiphany One

The day when medals are awarded at the prestigious London flower show. At last the sun comes out and we can spend time in our own small patch of green.

the baby sits up
Buddha like—
just one small flower

Epiphany Two

sudden heat—
the honeysuckle’s shadow
on the sunshade

The baby lies on his mat beneath the creamy fabric covered spokes. He stares at the clear blue sky. Leaves rustle.

moment shared—
on the sunshade's underside
a dark moth flutters

Epiphany Three

We are stardust. A few months old, yet how many aeons did it take to bring this tiny being here? In a decade or two perhaps he will pluck petals, throwaway beams;

“She loves . . . she loves me not . . . she loves . . . ?”

baby’s morning milk
alfresco—across the grass
the light of daisies

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