A Day in Poetry

The warmth comes with the morning. Winds blow leaves and cats chase imaginary mice hiding under the moving blanket in my front yard. Mother Nature works and I watch. The neighbor's momma hound, whose tits never seem to dry up, comes to steal cat food from the garage. My clapping and stomping don't seem to leave a lasting impression, as she comes almost daily. I find myself sitting, watching the waterfall on the pond in the back yard. Near the pond, the chickens scratch through the leaves and earth, hopping back, looking for unearthed treasures. Worms. Bugs. Nutrition. It's the dance of the chickens. The girls waddle to their coop and they deposit tomorrow's breakfast. Eggs. Fresh eggs. Free range, wonderfully, wonderful eggs. As the day matures, the winds grow like little children who eat their veggies. The cold comes, as reports predicted. The chickens hide under the bushes for warmth. I open the front door and Jethro, who resides inside, attempts to join his feline cousins outside. He wants to chase the invisible mice, too. I bring in wood for a fire and soon, am listening to the crackles. I sit at my desk, Jethro jumps in my lap and I wonder, "What will I blog today?"

photos courtesy of Snakelover