Sometimes stillness, the blush before the bloom, inspires the poet.  Somerville poet Bridget Galway proves it with her poem Pamet.

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Pamet

Here with bittersweet marsh grass
I am banked
under blue sky looming clouds,
reflected in winding water ways,
valued by bayberry, beach rose,
scrub pines climb.

Crowned under trees
arched with the breath of leaf movement;
sometimes rows,
sometimes locust grove cluster;
gray blue rough,
between shape and tinges,
quiet and bird song.

In the distant Sea chorus
swoosh and seagulls cry,
where light and color play
through ripples and wave.
Then flickering through branches,
brush, to earth.

I am here;
as time was,
is still in remembering,
still as a pond,
quiet,
before the fly or skipping stone.

– Bridget Galway

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