I sat upon a wooden bench, In a garden full of emptiness
The wooden slats firmly pushed, against my tailbone; into my middle back
A subtle breeze I scarce could feel, chilled my thin frame through and through
One negligent cloud suppressed the sun; my countenance dropped at least 15 degrees
Twas not too long, for light prevailed. I thought, “this must be how it ends”
Embarrassed bushes loathed their pruning. I discerned their thorns and ugly parts
A hummingbird took rest on a nearby branch. “How do you stop once your wings get going?”
The bushes glared at me, but did not pout. I wasn’t sorry I saw their pain.
Soft green grass gives gently under foot. I realized “Grass is always willing to forgive”
Tall, tall trees; they were speed bumps for the wind; gently instructing earth to slow down
People pass. Pleasantly perusing…People. I’m still not sure what to make of them
A bench, some bushes, and a little bird. Sometimes you have to listen to be heard.
January 14, 2018 ¦ Portland, OR
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