LilyAndFriends

It rained again last night and there are stalactites on the bushes,
the air is crisp and my nose can feel the humidity in the air,
the grass is wet, the lagoon is dark, and the sky is wearing grey...
But it isn't cold in my heart for, deep inside,
there's the warming thought of you.

My hand, outside the pockets of my parka, is drained of color,
my bones shiver with that coldness I once felt when life was leaving,
you can cut a clean piece of bark from the tree trunk in one stroke...
But there is no crispness inside this gentle spirit,
for somewhere in the air there's you.

The blue heron forgot to perch on his favorite branch, as did the crane,
the dolphins are not playfully jumping in the water, nor the fish,
the pelicans are not fishing, nor are the two men in the dinghy...
But hope springs eternal in my step as I walk to my sounds,
for every move rehearses for you.

The sermon was a dud, the music was not pleasing, the priest a guest,
the children were unruly, everyone was wearing layers of wool,
and a fattening peanut butter cake awaited with the coffee...
But as I fell asleep in the midst of the drudgery,
there was the knowledge of the promise of you.

You know the kind of lazy Sunday in the grasp of winter
when you want to sing but your throat only coughs...
When friends are out there waiting for your visit or call
but nothing moves you into action much to your perplexity...

You know the kind of afternoon am referring, when cold is better shared,
when solitude is best forgotten in someone's gentle caress...
You know the kind of evening when all that this world promises
doesn't seem to come to fruition, yet again...Let's partake.

Lily Thompson 080127

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