Green heron preens with blue-gray
bill, orange foot scratching white
chest overlooking the freshly stocked
lake-larder. Killdeer claims the black
tarmacadam, feigning injury.
Cardinal’s red flash fleeting past.
Clouds gather unobtrusively
for the afternoon surprise
with thunderous flair. My cup
is dry, my plate empty. And still
I hesitate in this fluttering.
Instantly seven swallows swoop,
the green heron croaks her warning.
I turn my head for the wren’s spray
of notes, liquid, mellifluous.
When I look back, they’ve all vanished,
end of Act One, the lessons I need
played out before me. A how-to
defend boundaries, strong nos
in living color as I sit with coffee
and pen. My filters and expectations
pushing extraneous ink to
protect me from the dizzying
freefall of now until there are
no words and
I’m in it.