Well,
I listen to the birds in the morning
wondering if they enjoy their singing as much as I do.
Or if to them it’s nothing more than chitchat at the breakfast table:

Did you see the oak? She’s getting old. I bet the next storm will take her down. Wouldn’t take shelter there when the weather changes.

The new plants in the garden over there? Great spot for worms. I tell you. Yummy. 

Man, leaf blowing at this hour? Can’t even enjoy your breakfast in quiet anymore! Good that these stinky loud ones are finally dying out. But you need to be damn careful with the new ones. Can’t always hear the blast coming.

At lunch time, I stop and smell the roses. 
At least I try. The roses follow their own schedule,
and on some days, they are only just getting ready for blooming.

Roses-in-waiting. Me-in-waiting. 
Pure potential. Future in the making. 

Later in the afternoon, I watch the fountain.
My trusted reliable friend is always running, night and day, 
rain and shine. I could come anytime to watch if it weren’t for the gate
that humans put between me and my fountain.

Please note the opening hours. Come back later.

It does put me at ease to know that my fountain is always there for me
even if, at times, I can’t reach it. Then, I have one last walk to 
soak in the pause from hustle and bustle. 
The not anymore and the not yet. 

Time for bed.

12 Aug This entry was published on August 12, 2025 at 4:36 pm. It’s filed under A poem a day..., cancer, chemo, consciousness, ENGLISH ENTRIES and tagged Palo Alto. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.