More simply now. A black squirrel shakes his tail at the dog and a lady oriole drinks from the brook, peeking just beyond a lily sprawl.
The wind makes a leafier sound.
And I was hoping to see my roses bloom before leaving, whose four buds ache with opening, yet do not.
But nature has it all under control.
There are times when I walk with the entire blackness of the universe between steps. Seeing with the eyes is confusing against the velvety curtain. So I try not to notice the speckle trimmed butterfly. Or the rattling of woodpeckers on oaken oars. Or the pinecones you keep leaving for me piled at the foot of the porch.
The day's motion gives a choice: step in or refrain. Though I'm asked to dance, there is a contentment in cupping the periphery. But I'm thinking about LSD lately and how it might help treat depression and I'm sure I would find the willingness to join the dancing then. That's what they say, anyway.
June brings in her gifts and there is so much light now that there may even be extra. Every day a decision arrives to shake winter from my curving back.
A limp betrays and summer smiles still remember skin too cold to touch
I'm walking home now anyway, and the trees are bending in my favor. One takes the gifts offered and does her best to reflect the presence as is.