This time
rain brought
a gopher
out of its burrow,
a race
across a road
to the acre
beside the creek,
high grasses
lines of new trees
putting roots into
flood plain
still soft enough
to disappear
before that woman
with her dog
crosses the bridge.
Less than
a 50 yard dash
a doe watches,
face the color of Florida sand,
not Gulf but Atlantic
where sea traffic
tans grains
from that rice white
to a yellow brown glow,
a bright contrast
to the still green
soy beans
under foot
a shade dimming
as she turns
and waves goodbye.
If I close my eyes long enough
that fan on an end table
rolls up the aisle
offering water
pretzels
white noise
letting me drift
over pages of my kindle
missed paragraphs
filled with cat whistles
above the clouds.
No comments:
Post a Comment