There was this guy
Not a bad boss, but fired me,
Kicked, propelled me,
Shook me from the corporate tree,
Not knowing
How grateful I was to fall,
How much opportunity
Lifted above my horizon –
New dawns, new suns –
New ways of being me.
Truthfully I think
He’d been better firing himself
Which, eventually, he did,
Going out of offices,
Tripping way beyond those corporate walls
And into Andalucian hills
To a lake
Of his dawn’s finding,
Seeing on a branch
A dragonfly
Attacked by wasps
(Which, with his meditation beads,
He shooed)
Chanting, picking up that lifeless thing –
Still stick of blue green life
Apparently struck out.
And, not knowing what to do,
Went on chanting
Till the wings chirred,
The dragonfly rose
Flew again to the lake
And like a victory roll made off
Into some new, blue future.
Like that guy found.
Like I, fired, found.
All three of us.

By Henry Berry
Dragonf;ly perched on a hand

Henry Berry lives in a rambling old house in the rural Vale of York, England. His writing focuses on external and interior, mental landscapes inspired by intimate contact with the countryside immediately around his home. His blog can be found at www.henryberry.blogspot.com/
Photo by Pantila Terada

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