Fresh crabapple leaves flutter. The mantle clock tick-tocks, tick-tocks. Frank’s voice carries from beyond his closed door. I walk to the couch, grab a pillow, and return to my seat at the dining room table. The Syracuse windchimes sound off.
A roar soft as a sated lion: the new windchimes ring out. Branches sway like stadium fans performing “the wave,” as both sets harmonize. Clear sky, a deckrail aglow in reflected light, and yet these temepsts!
I ignored moments like these when I let the strife of dashed expectations overwhelm me. I brooded, with a clenched gut and knotted shoulders, over many disastrous tomorrows that never came. I regretted, with a lumped throat and sore heart, over many desolate yesterdays that weren’t.
Not today. Now, I savor these dull, arthritic aches, and the woosh of wind. I relish the ticking clock and muffled conversations from the office below. I delight in being startled by drooping dogwood blossoms, the neighbors’ blooming violets and overly thin golden retriever, the aftertaste of sweet potatoe tortilla chips.
Just this.
sudden warmth
atop the light fixture
robin’s nest
I’m hosting #HaibunMonday over at dVerse Poets’ Pub today. We are writing about the present moment. Come join us!
Frank J. Tassone 
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