How to spend the day

 When I opened my eyes, finally ceding to the raucous birds that they had won, the day would begin even if it was only 5:30 a.m.

And I wondered how many layers of clothes would be needed once I exited my warm sleeping bag, 

And what on Earth I would do the next 15 hours until I could gratefully close my eyes again, in this God-forsaken wilderness lacking all my usual diversions

So I layered on some clothes and found a small path leading  down to the lake where I found Paradise and enough to keep me occupied 

Watching fog roll across the water, noticing all the different heights of willow at the shoreline and the ever changing kaleidoscope of color on the hillsides.  

I came back this evening, hauling my folding chair and book, my husband, to dangle my feet in the water, feel the wind cool my skin so warmed from the sun.  

Once home, I will listen more closely to the birds and I will sit in my garden, to notice the different heights of the plants, to watch the passage of the shadows across my small Paradise.

Thank you for the flowers

 Thank you for the Flowers on the front cover of your book, the one I randomly picked off the shelf, feeling somewhat in need of flowers from someone who could maybe be my friend. 

Where are you, friend, on this rather gloomy day that watches our country burn to ashes, where children drown in Texas floods. 

And why can't I laugh off the ridiculousness of it - well because I live here, after all.  

It's a day to write a poem on my phone sitting in the bookstore, something I never do, except that

There is a woman at home scrubbing baseboards that have not been cleaned in decades and my husband is riding his bike along mountain streams

So I am here seeking solace, an escape from some parts of reality that pull me down, that even pushing big weights at the gym does not budge.

So thanks for the flowers, the poems inside that may, or may not, speak to me, but at least, you exist.

This is all the garden that I want

He says that I would be bored, but what does he know

about gardening, about finding help that actually knows what a weed is

(in spite of their enthusiastic proclamations of knowing all about weeds),

and what does he know about drip irrigation, busted lines, water in the basement.  

He says that I would be bored, but I think I would be perfectly happy with a tiny garden.

Like this one, with Saint Francis holding some water for birds next to a couple clumps

of beautiful yellow blooms.  

I threaten that I want to move away from this house with this big garden, 

and I see him cringe, visibly.  

So, I'll whittle away at this garden, cover it with hardscape and mulch, get rid of

all those places that simply grow weeds, that become a jungle in the back corner.

I'll get rid of the attempt at a compost pile, which invites pack rats,

how they love the warmth and the food.  

He says that I would be bored, but I'm going to do all that I can to get bored by

whittling away at this overwhelming mess of a garden, little by little,

with the help of people who know nothing, but are maybe willing to learn.