The new water heater has arrived and is installed, finally. Soon, I will find out if we have hot water. The boy who did it is 24. He really seemed to know what he was doing. His assistant was even younger.
Common as pigeons, common as dirt, and messy, geese swim to shore in perfect choreography. No one but me turns to watch them step one by one from the water and waddle up the beach to the grass in formation . Only the smallest children look up; they run at the geese and quack, setting the geese to flight, setting them honking. As the geese take their dance to the sky, they whistle the wind with their wings. The children lift their faces to the sky, but no one else seems to see the world expand, growing wider and deeper. How spacious it is. It overflows with herons, bitterns, soft-shelled turtles and muskrats towing eel grass through duckweed.
Doves sing. Do they mourn what we miss each moment or call us to attention? Wild bergamot, blue vervain, yellow coneflower, Sagittaria, and red winged blackbirds laughing, laughing. A fox leaps and twines among cattails and bulrushes, appearing and reappearing. Swallows weave intricate patterns above the pond, where water lilies lift their leaves and shake them in the wind, and frogbit flowers hunker down under a darkening sky. When the commonplace suddenly comes into focus with its singing shine, when tendrils of dove song snare my heart, every-day water lilies transform to lotus blossoms, simultaneously flowering and fruiting in this extraordinary ordinary moment.
art and poem by Mary Stebbins Taitt
For Keith, Sara and Erin, whom I carried here in my heart, at Lake St. Clair Metropark after seeing Dr. Andrew Scrogin, so for him, too.