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  • I live a modest life,

    a simple concrete patio

    with mismatched furnishings,

    tomato and bell pepper plants

    the width of it, adjacent

    to the junipers, hydrangeas,

    hostas, roses, wildflowers,

    peonies and irises

    have taken up my hours

    in planting, feeding, watering,

    yet on my summer mornings,

    when roused from sleep,

    coffee cup and books

    and cigars in hands

    and Olivia the Shitzu

    sniffing, wandering,

    inspecting her domain,

    I count them hours well spent.

    I do not find it strange

    to sit here in the morning light,

    read, or when inspired, write,

    amid the sounds, and sights

    of nature, ash and linden trees,

    shroud covers for the chickadees,

    wrens, red capped woodpecker

    goldfinch, cardinals,

    and in the distance, owls

    protesting sunlight’s imposition

    to their meandering hunt,

    while robins hop in search of bugs,

    doves retrieve the fallen food

    from suet and seed bar,

    and squirrels chide me openly

    for putting up the guard

    that keeps them from the seeds.

    A twenty foot by ten foot pad

    of concrete sits near

    the white garage with empty

    stalls, my car, the Kia

    off to work with Crystal Anne,

    the other, Sandy’s Chrysler Van,

    at the shop the last few days

    for problems, upon the pad

    a picnic table seldom used

    and some lumber, the beginnings

    of a pergola as yet unbuilt,

    beyond the pad, the lilac

    bushes, green now in the summer

    sun, but spring time filled

    with fragrances so sweet

    they turned the morning air

    exquisite frequencies so rare

    Your head would reel,

    your senses swoon.

    Frederick Smith

    © June 28, 2102
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