We lie together on the bed
Looking out of the second-floor window.
Maple leaves flutter.
A blackbird with a yellow beak
Pecks at the grass in the front yard.
From this vantage point
The lawn looks like a spotted
Toad with yellow markings
Covering its body.
I open the window and he
Lifts his head, sniffs the air.
Who’s coming?
What does he smell?
We both jerk our heads to see
The walker who strolls by
Buoyantly chatting with someone
On the other end of the line.
I see why he spends hours here
In the “watch tower.”
Bits of life happen all day long.
I lay my head on a pillow
And listen. It’s all I can muster
After an hour of weeding
And pruning the huge hair bun
On the grape vine.
My old self has faded;
The one who squeezed in laundry,
Making dinner, walking the dogs,
Weeding and pruning in between
Teaching, writing newsletters,
Calling people back and posting
On Facebook.
It’s been three months
On this new journey.
I’ve unraveled.
Unfurled.
Dissolved.
I’m happy now if the laundry
Gets done in three days.
If I pull weeds once a week.
If I have food in my refrigerator.
I’m most happy sitting
Among the plants, watching
Them grow. Listening
To birds chirp.
Watching my dogs lounge in their beds
Observing what’s right in front of them.
