I’ve never been good at standing in lines
or the confines of a crowded room,
and don’t get me started on malls or box stores.
I value open spaces as I age:
the clean surface of a table top,
the uncluttered corner,
mountains with a view to the horizon,
a lake bordered by granite cliffs and bluffs
rather than one with forest to the water’s edge.
I value larger trees whose shade
keeps seedlings and brush at bay
and whose bark is rough and patterned,
rather than thickets of smaller trunks
crying out for room to breathe.
Let me scan the hillsides and meadows
without a sign of straight lines
indicating human action.
Have you noticed most of nature offers only curves?
I value immediate and open conversation
or the companionship of silence and
am not interested in your opinion if
it’s too lengthy or confined
within a box that has no lid.
On this March day let the sun come and go,
the daffodils sway in the wind,
the bare branches of deciduous trees reflect from vernal pools.
Let hail sting your face with its round hardness
and flowering tree petals drift like snowflakes,
outlasting the hailstones in a carpet on the ground.
Appreciate the silver-gray softness of willow catkins,
present just long enough,
before being replaced by yellow flowers.
Later in the day tree frogs will chorus
from the waterway,
voices gradually fading
and then silent--
the space of silence.
After a time, one will offer tentative song,
then another, and soon the ensemble will fill the air,
uncluttered and focused in a celebration of spring.