One hears of awakenings.
The struggle, the shattering drama.
Agonies, a tiny stem pushing up
Against hardened soil,
Through dry cracks in unyielding surface
Winds threaten tiny. new legs
Infant leaves thrash against the breeze
Roots struggle mightily.
Hold on, grab tight.
Push up, find the sun.
Bars on windows
Bars on doors
Keeping someone out?
Keeping someone in?
What happened here?
To put bars on windows and doors.
Classrooms are for slumber
Didn’t always think so.
Before you met the tenured professor?
I sit. A professor speaks
And now I’ve lost track.
All words are precise
Oh. So. Slowly.
We sleep, try not to snore.
Well-rested, we watch
Class is almost over.
Is there such a thing as quiet
when the mind is constantly chattering?
Yogis say, no.
The mind must stop chattering
before true quiet can be heard.
Hot coffee in a mug from the Adirondacks
from a vacation of hikes, kayaks,
time to meander.
I don’t wonder why people buy souvenirs.
My mug returns me to a sunny day.
My t-shirt recalls a brisk jolt of mountain air.
The Adirondacks! Oh, how’s the weather there today?
I ponder, I sip, I am there
on the trails, on the water, in peace.
I know why I buy souvenirs.
– to hug my holiday forever
in my memory and my heart,
sometimes to share with friends
over a cup of tea.