Sunday Morning

This still Summer Sunday

quiet shimmers in early sunlight

with the hoverflies and beetles

waking in the gardens.

Even the gravel trucks and tractors

that will again rip the asphalt

outside my windows tomorrow

powered by bones of mastodons

and heat of human hands,

sit silent, gears slowly coating

with morning’s dew and dust.

Only tiny garden beasts

the painted milk snake and the toad

take a final turn in the wet air

before hiding their soft beauties

in the hollows of weed and stone.

Something stirs and whirs,

cicada or cricket or bee or all,

calls the first ray creeping

across the fennel and milkweed

along the wires of wild strawberry

and summons the day.

About janemwoodman

Singer, writer, restaurant reviewer, urban farmer, devoted lover of my husband....old and getting happier all the time.
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