Poems From The Porch
photo by jason charters on Unsplash.com
Another bright, crisp morning
invites the sky to widen
and the chimes to sing out.
The elderly water oak is
lazily releasing its leaves in
spiral droplets.
To be alive here now,
to embody the grace of noticing,
to see,
to see the contrast of light and shadow on the crepe myrtles,
a metaphor for my moods,
to hear,
to hear the persistent cry of the rooster,
a reminder that there is a part of me
that wants to be heard,
to feel,
to feel the warmth of the fire next to me,
a reassurance of unconditional caring,
are all benevolent gifts of the Great Provider,
Immanent Sustainer, the Luxurious Lover
of us all.
I suspect that the mighty oak
will always have leaves to offer
or shelter to give
or even itself to be burned
because
that’s what Love does.