Grand are days spent
on the front porch,
an all-time favorite place
to while away time.
Open railings are like
open windows as
and lively breezes
skirt in and slant their dance
shifting immediate attention
to nature’s amazing works of art,
an array of dynamic attractions.
Earth’s colors, wondrous textures,
and delightful designs all mesmerize.
I begin to notice everything as if
sun and wind are my caretakers
who want me to not miss a thing.
Cerulean skies, cotton-puff clouds,
golden sun, the vast variety of
gorgeous greens in planters,
hanging baskets, lawns, and trees,
unfoldings of petaled beauties
draping over terra-cotta pots,
ivy trailing like a veil down steps.
Birds drift from the Bradford Pear
to the willow-looking River Birch.
The cat, stretched out on slats, rests.
His eyes slightly close, then open.
His eyes slightly close, then reopen.
The end of his tail is rhythmic
with a steady flick, a steady beat,
in July’s unrelenting heat.
Winds rush in again like warm breath.
Bright rays spill splotches on the floor.
My wicker-rocker rocks, rhythmically, too.
As temps rise, the cat’s tail flicks, bird song trails,
sun and wind dance their dance, and
my wicker-rocker rocks.
My wicker-rocker rocks.
Grand are these days spent on the front porch,
a place where nature speaks, and I listen.