Perspective

How do you know that the side you are used to is better than the one to come?

~ Rumi

Underneath

Home Is
A spider web
Glistening
In the light of the sun
Rising in the east.
It is the sit of the wren,
The pecking of the chickens
And the sweetness
Of my lovers kiss
Upon my neck
His breath and smell forcing me
To close my eyes
And savor the moment.

Home is the roar of the highway
As people travel
North
And south
Even on a perfect
Sunday morning.
It is a breath held
And released
Thankful
For the stillness the cool breeze
Brings to the moment.
It is the glistening drop of water
Slowly gathering
Light
And enough weight
To drop
To the earth
In a thundering unexpected
Silent splash.

Home is the chatter of the squirrels
Momentarily upset
By the hawk
Who hunts them
And miraculously appears
Seemingly out of no where
Or the raccoon
Who instinctually year after year
Returns to the faithful persimmon
Savor in their short season.
It is the pine warbler trill,
The hermit thrush song,
The nuthatch call,
And the seasonal
Eastern phoebe song.

Home is here.

Dinner

When I consider the critter who left this behind I wondered how long it was there...

Did it take the acorn from the leaves in the garden? Or did they come from a tree in the yard?

Looking at the spot it seems like a pretty good vantage point from the place this rock is in the yard...

Does it eat here often? Or have I just missed it?

I hope it was a yummy acorn... 

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Medicine

Fog in the morning.

Busy birds all day.

Squirrels.

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Color

Sitting in the yard. Soaking up the maples before the leaves drop. In the damp of this morning the colors are extra vibrant.

The air is filled with bird calls, squirrels chasing each other.

The red shouldered hawk calls from the pecans.

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