Tuesday, June 18, 2013

The Work of Being on Holiday




I let the rain be an excuse
to watch young deer nibble
on garden flower heads,
smiling at black squirrels
hugging a pair of bird feeders
as yellow finches stared impatiently

I skipped from under umbrella elms,
seeing tea steep at memories
read pages that lay randomly
and painted words from inside

It was fun fending off being a weekender,
sailing hellos to passing locals
shrugging off their creases of why
because I can I do and I did

Caring not about it all, them all, at all,
I turn down and keep the switch off
make not the effort of blowing feathers
at being imperfection's perfect being.

The Work of Being on Holiday





I let the rain be an excuse
to watch young deer nibble
on garden flower heads,
smiling at black squirrels
hugging a pair of bird feeders
as yellow finches stared impatiently

I skipped from under umbrella elms,
seeing tea steep at memories
read pages that lay randomly
and painted words from inside

It was fun fending off being a weekender,
sailing hellos to passing locals
shrugging off their creases of why
because I can I do and I did

Caring not about it all, them all, at all,
I turn down and keep the switch off
make not the effort of blowing feathers
at being's imperfections perfectly being.