Summer

On the way to the pond this morning

School is nearly out.

Birds are busy feeding and

fretting over their young

and the boys who ring door

bells and throw pine cones

are without an occupation.

I’ve a garden to keep, a house

to tend, family and friends to

love, but no real occupation;

nothing to fill a resume.

We live here together, the man

I love, growing old in the house

I love (also growing old), fixing

what fails before it grows more

complicated ~ admitting a tender

wistfulness for all the things we’ve

managed to get right.

The story goes on. The pace slows,

but the mystery continues.

LBM 6/11/2024