Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Sunday, June 26, 2005

I come out here in the heat and breeze
out here where nature is at its best,
where in the morning a three-quarter moon
can still be seen as dawn breaks
within this line of vision.

Out here where the chattering of myriad birds
all hail a new day and compete to be heard
over the roar of a window unit and the
squawk of a parrot from the next lot over.

I come out here to write in the heat
where a breeze is more than a welcome friend,
where pilgrimages are made to these flowering plants
several times daily by bees and wasps,..

Out here where small peices of bread drop like
clockwork from a balcony somewhere overhead;
a treat for squirrels and their feathered homies.
I come out here to absorb and process
and find new ways to see.

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