such a small world

the muted green pods have
fallen off, onto the damp
earth, and the exposed petals are
now crumpled, no longer
fresh and bright.
now, the ants are receding
from the peony buds as they
prepare to burst into bloom,
then they, too, will fade,
leaving Shasta daisies to light
the warm summer afternoons,
such small movements mark
the seasons, the weather, and
come to my mind when I
review the day at 11 p.m.,
not the wars, nor famine,
peace talks, or the fall of the
Tamil Tigers, as they are all
unknowns to me, they do not
mark my days, as perhaps they
should, I worry about my very
small world of influence as I
watch the birds alight at the

fountain to take their fill.

Photo courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/rscottduncan/3439967595/