Just the Birds

It is quiet at Googie's house this morning.  Pa-pa is off at a conference, so at the moment, my cup of coffee keeps me company and does a pretty good job of it.

The morning lends itself to reminiscence and a somewhat pensive state of mind.  I think about my aunt who has just passed and contemplate the events that, this weekend, will honor that life lived long and well.

It is also the calm before the sweet storm of summer grandkid visits, which Sooby will kick off in a couple days.  The end of the week will bring a whirlwind, no doubt.

As I sip the last lukewarm drop of coffee, I look down at my mug and smile.  The mug advertises our local poetry group, SpoFest, organized just over two years ago by a friend and former creative writing student of mine.  Once again, I marvel at the fruit of this man's vision despite his physical blindness.  I lean back, close my eyes, and wonder what it would be like to be blind.

And so, out of all this, comes this short lyric poem, with which I will bid you good morning on this gorgeous late-spring day.  I hope you like it.

                   Just the Birds

I close my eyes, and I hear just the birds--
a solo first, and then a chorus swells,
a redbreast maestro setting tone and pace
from his director's stand upon a branch.
With open eyes the music fades away
to only faint and random background notes--
the neighbor's yellow cat stalks prey so loud;
her laundry flaps so noisily on the line.
I close my eyes against these raucous sights,
and when I do that, I hear just the birds.