Poems From The Porch
photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash.com
The wildflowers are waving excitedly at me this morning,
their exuberance a neon-yellow contrast to the grey of the day;
and so it is with the insistence of the chimes.
Do they or the wind want my attention?
Or maybe it is the birds who are swooping and diving in the distance,
a cohesive pattern of reflecting silver-white.
There goes a blue jay flying to disappear within the green covering of the oak,
a sprig in its beak.
And here the dove is cooing and other avians are chirping and whistling,
so the wind redoubles his efforts to be heard
as a love song played on the instrument of the trees.
Isn’t it all Love?
I mean the way that the trees receive the wind
and allow themselves to be played in the service of the wind’s fancy;
and the chimes, also, surrender humbly to the wind’s precociousness,
forceful or absent,
no abuse nor neglect,
but the whimsy of his manifestations.
Now a dove lands solitary on the crepe myrtle by the porch.
For a moment, she gives me her attention, a brief encounter.
Our eyes meet, then she flies away.
I didn’t start evaluating her appearance, by the way,
considering whether she is a pretty dove or not;
but I did notice the peach hue of her feathers and her soft beauty.
That was why she came to visit, you know,
to give and receive Love.
She didn’t leave me anything tangible,
but she gave me her attention and acknowledgment.
There was nothing else required.
So, I am admiring the wind and all that his presence offers.
His might is awe-inspiring, and without him,
the wildflowers would not be waving.