From the flagstone in the far corner of the garden
All I see are flames leaping from the copper pit and
Manzanita branches, sketching dark lines against the not-yet-night sky.
I’ve been sitting here for hours, finally just sitting,
Letting night descend, letting plants seep and mingle into darkness.
Listening to the irises and the ribes.
The dog runs back and forth, shimmying in the November air,
Tearing through fallen leaves,
Dancing in the disappearing light.
She has taken over for the bees, dashing from plant to plant
while they sleep and wait for the sun to rise again.
This patch of earth and stones and trees and grasses,
Is ours. Our place apart from concrete and cars, electrical lines and insatiable billboards.
Our place to sit, to stare, to listen.
At rest in a world of bees and flowers and shifting light.
All I see are flames leaping from the copper pit and
Manzanita branches, sketching dark lines against the not-yet-night sky.
I’ve been sitting here for hours, finally just sitting,
Letting night descend, letting plants seep and mingle into darkness.
Listening to the irises and the ribes.
The dog runs back and forth, shimmying in the November air,
Tearing through fallen leaves,
Dancing in the disappearing light.
She has taken over for the bees, dashing from plant to plant
while they sleep and wait for the sun to rise again.
This patch of earth and stones and trees and grasses,
Is ours. Our place apart from concrete and cars, electrical lines and insatiable billboards.
Our place to sit, to stare, to listen.
At rest in a world of bees and flowers and shifting light.
