My old friend's old dog is dying.
The world beyond my small dirt patch
Spins so wildly I don't care
To try to understand,
For now, and
I forgot a special task,
Neglected to pay a past due bill,
And sometimes sit, bewildered,
Wondering if it's just me
Or if the axis tilts a bit
In search of beauty's balance.
A few spots of rain have greened
The sere view outside my doors, while
Down the road my neighbor hays
His fields, and soon he will be baling.
There is respite in small moments.
I sit outside and listen to the bullfrogs,
And my old dog of fifteen years
Lopes across the straggly lawn to the
Pond where bullfrogs call. I
Watch an ordinary sunset start to slip
And glow golden, fiery,
Down behind the spruces that screen
My neighbor's fields, and
Hummingbirds arrive with their little
Motors revving at the
Feeder Peter's tied with red ribbon.
In this minute, two, five or more,
I am aware of homeostasis,
And in this moment I can say I'm
Thankful:
All is well.
No comments:
Post a Comment