And here you are, visiting my blog, perhaps at the end of your day, or the beginning. Whatever the time is, or the day of the week, I’m sure you’re thinking about something important, right? I mean, when aren’t we thinking about something important? It might seem unimportant to others, but to us? It doesn’t get any more important than it is right now.
Each day carries some weight with it. Some more than others, but it is a weight none the less. We think, we figure, we manipulate, we carry on and we work it through, until, well, it all ends up behind us, and then, we move on to the next thing, or day, or issue, or moment.
Ponder as we choose to, we always find a way to keep moving forward, because as you all know, life doesn’t stop for anyone, or any thing.
This poem I am submitting today for number 21 is a short burst of reality, although some things might not ever recognize it as such.
I hope you have a great night, and don’t worry, because tomorrow waits for no one, especially you. Grin
Have fun and be well.
Kicking Up the Dirt
A poem by DP Lyons
I sat on the front porch steps tonight.
I could feel the sun on my face as it sank lowly into the west.
I knew what a beautiful day it had been.
I wondered what tomorrow would bring, but I didn’t worry.
A warm, spring day in Maine was indeed winding down.
I heard the mourning doves nestling into their spruce homes tonight.
They have no bother with determining one day from the next.
They just live the day and continue being doves.
A chipmunk scolded me from a nearby blue spruce.
Apparently, I was taking up space along his normal evening route.
I didn’t know this, but I was sure he did.
He scolded me, and scolded me,
And then, he scurried by, along the other side of the car.
I could hear him kicking up the dirt in the driveway as he flew by,
Or perhaps he, might have been a she?
I guess I’ll never know.
The warm April day was starting to cool as I continued to sit on the steps.
Rarely do we get the chance to sit barefoot outside in April.
Rarely do I think of putting shorts on in April.
Rarely have I been thankful for such a splendid day in April.
I’m sure the doves didn’t think twice about the weather.
I’m certain the chipmunk didn’t have a care in the world how warm it was.
I was sure though, of just how unsure I could be.
From high atop the ash in the front yard, I heard a pair of red winged black birds.
I wonder if they knew what a splendid day it had been.