in a season of
surfeit
a visitor lands
on my windshield
a suspended reminder
that beauty is
not perfection’s
birthright
__________________________
this time of year I am punch drunk with beauty. the leaves on my windshield reminded me not to make assumptions about where I will see it. a saturday morning shortling.
a dropped verbena leaf
is rubbed to bring the scent
of summer’s idle moments.
my kitchen window
frames a silver hand
that holds an instant’s light.
the soft delighted snorts
of dogs in greeting
as the day begins.
and at the kitchen door
I sip from morning’s cup
grateful for another rising sun.
in a redwood grove
the sun’s arm lights the ferny floor
in the company of beloved children
there is nonsense and wonder
in the winter marshland
there is texture more than color
in the midst of singing
the voices tell me stories
in the simple potent thing
there is splendor waiting for me
it feasts my eyes
and I am full of joy
Life With Horace 