Window cover in off-white lace
with no hint of breeze to show it open
to that possibility, this June day--still a.m. here.
But traffic on Avenue H says so: It's open. It's morning.
Birdsong only in my recall of yesterday a.m.
And just a Robin and Sparrows collude.
But better than today in that way.
Where are they--that quartet?
At home she has a Mourning Dove
resting in joy and delight at her words of love
in vines green, and color. The light. But here, not even
a Crow. Oh. Wait! As if my thought brought it to my morning.
A cooing. Gently. Lonely and afar. With traffic
and chatter of House Sparrows. Perfectly
rendered from a different yesterday.
And mine. Not Crow, but
a Mourning Dove.
And a gentle wave of lace.
Rest of vacation. Or from it. Never perfect, but full and rich. I rest and write to Marily’s breathing after reading and relaxing to sleep again. Another good day ahead. Hopefully not too much play. R-n-R is what we make it.
Recalling thoughts of days ago in stress and schedule, and post on Facebook, the dove... Now birdsong. Each note or orchestration is really just for me -- each of us. I hear it differently than you or they. Direction. Deflection. Distance and ambient happening. All sound and events, all images in light--adjusted by aspect and attributes of heart.
It’s all a song unique to each soul. And healing and stretching and growing. Can even delete the past and paint a new beginning. Color and light. The song and dance of this moment.
She breathes. The traffic. Birdsong and window lace.
© 2013 Ardi Keim 6/10/13