Poems From The Porch

The fragrance, the silkiness, the water droplets glistening; the roses are offering themselves to the morning, not yet kissed by the sun.

A small frog, the color of camouflage, is exposed on the white porch railing. His eyes look up searchingly, and he holds his breath when he sees me, signaling fear.

But I don’t want the little being to be afraid. I want the breathing to resume its fast rhythm, and the precious creature to feel relaxed in my presence.

Maybe it’s a tall order, and now he’s gone. It was a chance encounter.

There are plenty of cats around, though, and a hummingbird visited the feeder.

It’s time for me to leave the rocking chair and do something else, but I don’t want to; especially now that the sunlight has reached the roses and is streaming across the porch floor.