Devonne Brown

Avenue of the Olive Trees, Henri Matisse

“The shadows are ripe,” she said,
and one floated across her face. 
The clouds were out, tap dancing back and forth 
between the leaves and branches and the sun.
True. 
They were dark and deep
 big green shadows on the ground from the ancient limbs, 
Giant, strong, and useless.
He wanted to know what she was thinking,
but they continued to walk under the canopy in silence. 
And watch the shadows play in dust 
like kittens with marbles and strings.
Colored balls racing ahead of velvet paws
A solar system out of control
As above, so below, Hermes Trimigistus…
Balance light and shadow, bounce and roll
“The shadows are ripe,” she said.
He had no idea what she meant. 
Shadows are full of secrets. 
Ripe.