Monday, January 7, 2013

Morning on the porch

This morning, the porch is strangely wet
Dampness having been everywhere
Yet, there was no storm last night.

The dog takes no notice
He sniffs attentive to the earth
Singularly focused as I am often not.

Encircled by this mystery of moisture
And surrounded by a lovely quiescence
I survey my world.

It is a new place here to take in
No fields of corn filled with snow
No Java Joe’s. It even smells different.

A friendless beginner, a babe
I am a tree rooted on a shoal in the ocean
Hoping sand will gather and make a beach.

The beach growing with each tide
Until it is a solid floating island in the sea of time
And I can plant my soul.

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