Beho Beho

May 1, 2017



Paw-prints softly sign the dust

where lion feet passed in the night;

yellow cats’ eyes watch me now

from a dozen likely places.


This is  named the place of breezes:

walking on the ridge the sun

warms my cheek as dawn fire spreads,

though the lee of the hill is night cool.


Small insects start to flick about

from stem to stem of dried grass,

glistening topaz-jewelled with dew

in the clear golden light.


From "Smoke on the wind" by Flo

Photos by David Liebst

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