Winter Thoughts in the Yard
decorating the lawn next door,
cavorting with the slip and fall
of the seed pods from the Liquid Amber.
It is brave to stand up
wearing morning dew
on rain slicker’s yellow hue
in the middle of a winter day,
as a pile of leaves become ordinary
chaotic art made by a rake,
holding fast to the trash can
labeled, yard waste.
Swimming in the pool out back,
the children of the Golden Rain Tree
are floating, pale and assuming
the same lightness of being as the bee
twisting frantically, trying to fly.
Each leaf takes a chance on passing the filter,
like naughty children playing dare.
and floats peacefully into the vortex.
The deflated rubber raft that held glee ...
(was it that long ago
that I pushed giggling girls out
into the deep end?),
lays silent and empty.
Why does it have more power NOW
to touch me,
as it lays beside the empty chair?
The citrus trees are exploding.
I give a bow and wonder
about the word divine
in the back yard temple of appreciation
where so many small things have been
blessed then forgotten, like girl scout cookies,
until they suddenly appear one day at the door
and ask if I want more.
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