that's mrs. mediocrity to you

It’s raining this morning, a cool rain that calls for windows closed and socks dug out of a drawer I’d prefer not to open until fall.

The kind of rain that, in a perfect world, would also call for curling up on the couch with a light blanket and a good book. But, of course, it’s not a perfect world, and so I will watch it rain while I work and be content with that. More than content, I will be grateful.

Perspective can be such an elusive shadow, flitting in and out of life when you least expect it. But it seems to know when to visit just when you need it most.

So even when I am working around the clock the way I have been lately, even when I’m questioning so much about the way I live my life and not coming up with many answers, even when my back hurts and my hands ache and in truth, I’m feeling a little bit sorry for myself, it’s good to look up every so often.

Today, I say, let it rain.

Eventually, there will be another sunset as lovely as this one, and the right moment to sit there and enjoy it.

But just now, the sky is crying and the basement will flood and I have more work than time.

And all of it is beautiful.

because that’s where i live
just now
and that island is still
a long ways away
and from where i sit
i can see the bottom
all swirling mud and nibbly-toe fish

i see the sun glinting off steel iron
dead weight placeholder
settling down into dawn
and about to be moments
of absolutely imperfect clarity
because nobody wants to be perfect
no how

and this water is cool
and my arms are so tired
all that rowing my way
’round this big blue circle
hollow bowl
amateur can’t hold me in
life cloche

i think
i’m just going to sit here
(beneath this glass)
and laugh for a while

I use a birds-tweeting sound on my phone as an alarm clock, and this morning, twice, the robins outside sang me awake well before the time it was set to go off. Both times, I tried to press the snooze button and both times, it made me laugh.

I’m learning to laugh at myself more often these days.

On Thursday, I left to go to the grocery store while my husband was mowing the lawn, and locked him out of the house.

I am lacking focus. Or concentration. Or both.

I am trying too accomplish too much in too little time, and the older I get, the harder it is to juggle. I used to be better at keeping all those balls in the air, spinning and dancing and turning around to catch each one at just the right time. These days, every so often, I miss completely and drop one.

What you learn, as you get older, is that you have to adjust. You have to slow down a little. You have to let your body and your brain rest sometimes. You have to, as they say, stop to smell the flowers.

It’s a new month, my favorite month, really, and I think I need to carve out some time to just sit with the sun and a book and nothing else. There is still so much to do, still so much to accomplish, but the hummingbirds have come home, the butterflies have arrived, and the robins will tell me when to get out of bed.

And when it comes right down to it, that’s all I need.

I just love my garden. It’s a lot of work, but the kind of work that is so worth all the effort.

In the spring and summer, it’s my part-time job, and for the weeks that fall between Memorial Day and Father’s Day, it could easily be a full-time position. Early June is when it all looks best, peonies, allium, geranium, lupines, roses, columbine, forget-me-nots and bachelor’s button all in full bloom. The view out my studio window is filled with flowers. And green that goes on forever.

We live in a tiny house with a big garden. And I wouldn’t want it any other way. From now until November, I will be outside as often as I can.

But even working isn’t so bad when I can sit here with this window open, listening to the birds, smelling the flowers, watching the sun crawl its way across the sky. I feel blessed, and grateful.

Tending this garden never ends. But neither does the joy it brings me. (Well, okay, except for the sore back.) I’ve learned so much about life out there with my hands in the dirt, lessons I don’t think I would have learned any other way. And there is always something new to see.

Just now, my eyes are wide open.

this is the silence
you sing about

echoes bounce off
the fragile egg
you hold
in one hand

sister bits
broken
at your feet

yesterday
owes you nothing

time pays for itself
each morning

tomorrow
waits for you
to color in the lines

growth is not
profound
but a function
of survival

there is nothing
to do

but listen

.

.

.

.

Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night – join us!
Lots of work on my plate this week, but I will do my best to catch up with everyone…