Guilt
slips in
and around
the cool morning breeze
for taking time
to slip into
my favorite summer chair
and be
in Sunday morning.
A confident breeze eases the heat
on my sun-warmed skin,
stroking my cheek
with the only classical music
absent of customary stuffiness —
Mozart, Bach, Gershwin, Schubert’s “Unfinished” symphony no. 8 —
that speak to me.
My eyes lock
on the blooming garden
framing a photo
in my mind.
Plants grown tall
like children —
spires of yellow and false indigo baptisia
3′ bearded iris and phlox
electric blue-violet geraniums
and newborn pink roses
sway in a wave of color
blending the whoosh of cars
with the wind,
an airplane speck roaring across the sky,
piano keys amidst tinkling and wooden chimes…
and birds chattering
in countess dialects
to the crackle of ice
in my juice,
interrupted
by the boom-boom base
of a teenager’s car
thankfully passing by…
It’s a privilege to take time
and savor Sunday morning.
Listen
and “be.”
Just be.
Set aside
the long heard demands
of productivity
rushing me
at this address.
wRighTing My Life 