TAKING TIME

BEING,

A MESSAGE TO MYSELF

Like bees busy on purple heather

there are those who seldom rest,

who leap about accomplishing things,

affixing stamps, defrosting a loaf,

pulling a weed, flipping a switch,

cramming a screen with a frenzy

of words. Doers who hope

to change the world, job by job...

You can barely hear the others,

like trees, monuments with veins,

rooted, shedding a scented

shade, a spring ceiling of green,

a seasonal rug of gold.

I've always felt an affinity for rain,

its palpable relief at letting go.

The round oak table by the window

resting all afternoon under

its shifting tablecloth of sun.

LUCI SHAW