Walking in the early-morning freshness,
Breathing in the gift of air
cleansed by last evening's rains
the single reddening branch on
the maple tree around the corner...
further along, the dogwood with every leaf tinged
with dusky red, while her more-than-nodding-acquaintance
neighbor remains resplendently green...
the purple morningglories glorifying the shrubs
over which they spread...
the tightly-closed seed pods studding the magnolia
where once creamy flower bowls bloomed...
the absence of traffic, as the human populants
remain at home on this holiday morning...
the abundance of birdsong resonating through
the trees and over the hillsides...
the occasional dripping of the remnants
of last night's storm...
Rounding the corner, the morning sun is fully
in my eyes until benevolent branches
gentle its light, leaving me to simply bask
in its healing warmth
Cresting the hill, I see the porch where once
sat a little old woman who waved delightedly
to my "Hello", smiling her benediction on
my day. I miss her presence,
even as I turn the corner to be greeted
by a fat, brown rabbit- perhaps the very one
I often see in my own yard, now sitting
perfectly still as rabbits do, convinced, I think,
that stillness imbues invisibility. Perhaps I
should try it sometime...
And then, I cross the street and approach
the uneven sidewalk leading to my own
front door, the cement upheaval created by
the willow oak a reminder of just whose place
this really is.
Now I sit here, drinking tea, reveling in the
still-unpopulated beauty of this
Labour Day morning, satiated and solaced
by the silence