Thursday Morning

Poetry

On my drive this morning the fog was finally clear
Broken limbs, shattered crumbs of trees lay all over the roads 
Morning sun was climbing higher — over the rooftops, over the branches Reaching beyond their tiled heads, hiding behind a bright gray sky

The grass outside my door was drenched
A fresh dewy calm filled the yard — my boots slipped into the world

Crushing some vibrance from a waiting land
Birds were silent or gone
Squirrels were not yet at their morning errand
Trees were whispering sweet promises of a false spring
The world was rejoicing — if only temporarily

My drive brought me past the farm
The one that holds miles of sunflowers in the summer
I saw its master crouching down

A hat hiding his face — shoulders rounded, tending to his work
Cultivating, creating

Three goats kept him company — 
one snowy, one spotted, one dark
they munched around him
tending to the lesser, but still vital work of his great endeavor

And on this morning:
I smelled the spices of a cafe
Saw the eyes of many different people
Felt the weight of a heavy wooden door
Was touched by the dusty breeze of our false spring through a back alley window
Rested against the thick orange paint of a windowsill

And listened to your voice my love

Tasted coffee sweetened with condensed milk
Smiled at a stranger on the sidewalk
Heard voices crossing and traffic humming

All before 11am
All before a candle was even lit, pooling its energy to propel our tiny Sufi dancer

My drive brought me here again
To this warm place in which I have found such great peace
To a place I will return as often and for as long as I am invited

I have arrived.