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.
atop the light fixture
I’m hosting #HaibunMonday over at dVerse Poets’ Pub today. We are writing about the present moment. Come join us!