9/11 Morning

I sit alone on the deck
with my coffee;
the first Sunday of the year with a cool
breeze and low enough humidity
to enjoy being outside.
I watch a smattering of birds
flit among the trees,
a butterfly or two traverse the yard,
the occasional reluctant sound of a day
beginning drifts through the trees.
I try and focus on the present,
the quiet, the peace,
try and grasp the significance
of a date,
and attempt to resist anger,
hate and worry.
The first tree to have turned is the one
most fully engulfed by the kudzu;
there is significance to this…
Leaves fall by ones and twos,
a slow drift through the quiet
of the morning.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Poetry

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s