I move like a SNAIL, so slow. The morning alarm feels as judgemental as a GAVEL in a courtroom. I snarl at it. I am up already, no need to push! The smell of coffee, toasted BAGEL, and the quiet murmur of voices is what finally persuades me that, yes, I should, can, and will arise.

Georg’ann

Traveling across states,
to meet my children,
it’s been almost a year
despite masks,
and the surreal inability to embrace
we have a GREAT day in the Arboretum
Starting with rich dark roast and a scrumptious BAGEL
In the morning chill
Later my darling daughter pees in the trees
to the chagrin of her partner
Sun beams filtered through leaves
shine down like a spotlight
as we pose, legs on a log
distanced but not distant

Heather

I had MEANT to leave THERE sooner. But the chance to catch a little joy, kept me moving along the path at zoo. There are few animals who can STREW delight and playfulness as well as an OTTER can. And so here I stand, caught up in the moment, as if I had nothing better to do than to smile and exclaim over the UTTER happiness of these sleek and lithe river gods.

Georg’ann

Sitting on the mat, he told me he loved dog parks
Though he had no dog of his own, he found it joyful
to watch them bounding across fields
This I ADORE, so unexpected
it cleanses the sticky RESIN
that often coat my heartstrings
far to easy to be PETTY,
to accumulate mental detritus
rather than hold delight of CUTER things
It is with UTTER appreciation that I thank him

Heather

From the sidewalk, I can see a FLAME glowing brightly behind the hotel windows. As the SLEET hits sharply, sending little rivers of cold down my neck, I cling tightly to my suitcase handle and cautiously cross the street. The greys around me BLEND fully – sky, buildings, other people are all varying shades of charcoal, bleak and grim.
The bell on the door chimes brightly. The CLERK is adjusting the red carnation in her lapel, the color shocking and welcoming all at once. I do believe everything is going to be okay.

Georg’ann

CREAM in the scones, not the tea!
Whether it be a CLERK or the Queen
milk is the mark of an authentic Brit.

Heather

I had to THINK about it for awhile – did had she really LIVED, as I heard her CLAIM, in an IGLOO?

Georg’ann

The sound of bitter cold ice is painful, it screeches
a NOISE felt piercing in the ears,
moving down into all the nerves
warmer ice, retaining moisture, is quiet, so very quiet.
Those that live in this landscape are in harmony
with each glistening quality and adjoining purpose.
It takes a certain VIGOR to inhabit a cold place
to live in a home made of ice blocks
What hangs on the walls of an IGLOO
What is the quality of conversation
Intimacy warms from the inside out

Heather

Her personality loomed LARGE whenever she stepped into a certain kind of role in a DRAMA. It would bring her acclaim, a cry or two of “BRAVO,” even rave reviews that overshadowed her fellow actors. But she took little satisfaction from these BRASH out-spoken roles, knowing as she did that she was playing herself. She longer for an opportunity to inhabit someone different on stage, a true test of her art and abilities.

Georg’ann

On the road a STAIN
gone in a FLASH
Driving too fast
Around the curve
CRASH
write ups made much
of his BRASH nature
as unseen in death
As he had been in life

Heather

We shall have a FEAST and I am delighted to share my FLASK of homemade elderberry wine

Georg’ann

TWINE secured a scrap of faded copper colored satin,
forming a POUCH around a still warm sourdough boule
Walking together we DALLY along Swan Pond
Watching turtles swim slowly
disappearing under the green-brown surface, heads re-emerge,
movement barely perceptible
a different sort of meditation
than the one that comes from watching birds
Wind blows across the water’s surface
The pattern reminds me of textured GLASS
Under the rough hewn gazebo
surrounded by peonies in various states of bloom and spent,
I offer my bread, you present your FLASK

Heather

I would not TRADE a single moment of love in order to avoid my GRIEF at losing you.

Georg’ann

Two burning, oozing bites
One on each ELBOW
Speak their request for attention
Like a TIRED child
Wanting comfort not readily available
Wise INNER mother quietly coos, gentle
GRIEF no longer resides here
acceptance arrived with soothing cream
Nature stings, swells, recedes
Nature stings, swells, recedes
Nature stings, swells, recedes
Nature stings, swells, recedes
Nature stings, swells, recedes
…
As it has always been,
so it shall always be.

Heather

We SHARE a moment, watching our wonderful wild child, who fills my arms, all sweaty, who sprawls across us both, spreading playground dust and grit without thought of the adult need for tidiness, offices to return to, meetings that must be attended. As I trace the line along his pale white skin, exposed by his newly SHORT hair, we marvel at how the one simple haircut, leaving him SHORN of toddler curls, has added years to his appearance. I feel the swoop and sweep of all our ages at once, layer upon layer, both stretching and collapsing time. The sweetness of the moment is abruptly ended by a wiggle and a squirm, the impatience of a child wins out over adult reflections propelling us into the future.

Georg’ann

Standing over the tub, afternoon sun at my back
Watching the water changing
from brown to clear as it circles the DRAIN
Dirty hands washed clean
Like the freshly SHORN sheep

Heather

Oh how I love the little white violets, as if a PEARL necklace had broken apart and scattered all across the lawn! Just visible next to one PLANT, completely hidden by another. To add to the enchantment of the moment, a chipmunk emerges from under the woodpile, hops onto a PLANK of lumber, discarded from some long forgotten project, surveying the riches before him. I savor the moment, this world rich with life and beauty 

Georg’ann

TIRED has become the default
Physically, emotionally
Though spiritually still thriving
functions like strong coffee,
a predictable pleasure
that awakens the senses.
Perhaps a SHACK would suit, to live like Thoreau
Fill BLANK pages with careful noticing
to a soundtrack of birdsong and crickets, winds rustling, fires crackling.
Keeping my body strong
without need for contrivances like holding a PLANK
Each day the form unfurling
strengthening and lengthening raises to the sun, then curls
around itself under the moon

Heather

I MEANT to TAPER off my contributions to the ever-growing stream of WASTE, a perpetual end-of-times problem. Instead, here I am, yet again, shopping, collecting bags from the HAUTE fashion stores and falling for another false LATTE. I console myself with some more cinnamon on my iced hazelnut coffee confection. There is always tomorrow, I try to believe.

Georg’ann

We carry a PLAIN piece of wood across a foreign REALM
It’s BLEAK landscape has a simple beauty,
not unlike the wood itself
Arrival at last, relief
A VALET takes our bag
We rest on the porch
Contemplating the grain,
curious what the LATHE will reveal
The artist comes out,
carrying cookies and a creamy LATTE
the bittersweet commission has commenced

Heather

“It’s going to be an ordeal, a miserable TRIAL, a test of my stamina and sturdiness,” I announced. “But the whole experience could be SAVED – MAYBE – if we have enough GAUZE.” You look up, puzzled. “What on earth do you mean?” “Well, silly, so we can create something to protect us from the mosquitoes. I will just to run to the fabric store. Can you see if there is a way to drape it over us while we are in the CANOE? You can do that, right?? I won’t be long.”

Georg’ann

After a few hours picnic provisions start to SPOIL
Choosing what to toss 
and what to keep is ROUGH, 
each of us having decidedly different tolerances
salads begin to whither;
cheeses harden at the edge and glisten with sweat;
festive fruit tarts, after their CAMEO appearance, 
are best left for the bees. 
Simplicity is best for a CANOE adventure- an apple and some nuts. 

Heather

I DRAPE, with casual abandon, while taking the ROACH clip, a SCARF over my bare shoulders. I am the embodiment of teen pretense at sophistication, practicing my sexy wiles on my companion du jour. Ah, youth! Ah, time!

Georg’ann

TEARS, like the rain predicted
do not come
they hang heavy in the air
a pressure waiting for release
Occasionally a SPARK, perhaps the storm is coming?
At the surface everything is a SWARM
In the depths nothing is SCARY,
all sensation ceases
though I watch the light move in the curtains
like the billowy SCARF
my father painted in the sky above the temple
the fabric through which he strives in vain, to paint the hand of god.

Heather

I often find myself in the PLACE where I crave a bit of sweet, a CANDY perhaps, to offset a bitter, ACRID, or otherwise savory taste. I am uncertain if this is some sort of commentary on my personality or simply a common human experience.

Georg’ann

Walking over the SLATE,
on one of those enticing MARCH days,
preview of spring, a reprieve
Careful attention to the rocks around reveals a fossilized ACRON of unknown origin.
Continuing on an ACRID smell
signals recent death.
Seasons and cycles

Heather

We discuss in lively and playful ways about anything and everything- the difference between SHAME and guilt, the benefits of a desk lamp versus one that you can STAND in the corner, and if the robin we are watching is having a
SNAIL or an earthworm for a SNACK. I love this about our relationship, that we can pass endless hours together and never be bored.

Georg’ann

Sitting in my worn arm CHAIR by the window,
It’s my favorite PLACE to spend hour upon hour,
a STACK of things to read,
a sip and SNACK within reach.
All complaints fall to the wayside.
Absorbed into other tales, lines of thinking, eloquent prose.
Outside a flash of red catches my eye.
Mr. Cardinal perches in the soft branches of the hemlock.

Heather

To QUIET the TIGER of rage, throw away ITEMS that keep you locked into that adversarial relationship with your self.
Make space for acting in accord with a heart-centered ETHIC. Internal peace will come.

Georg’ann

As PAINT can play a TRICK with the eyes,
so can a STOIC demeanor send your gaze elsewhere.
Learning to hide pain has become a personal ETHIC
My ebullience a trompe l’oeil

Heather

When the WORLD feels TOUGH, I like to make something FOAMY and sweet, like POPPA would. Perhaps a hot COCOA or a steamed milk with honey and cinnamon.

Georg’ann

Some evenings I like to AVOID effort,
retreating into some show,
silly yet sophisticated
with CAMEO performances peppered throughout.
To be a passive spectator, not the COACH
Sipping COCOA, cozy blanket
across my lap cat purring itself to sleep.

Heather

So many MOVIE scenes of birth, human and otherwise cast a CLOUD over her LABOR – she cannot get the images of pain, blood, fear, death out of her mind. “Look at me.” a voice, quiet in her ear. Struggling to grab the moment, she opens her eyes. A small, intimate group surrounds her, soft light coming in from the window. It must be almost dawn. Each face AGLOW from the soft light from the east, but also with love – for her, this baby, the moment. Pulling her into the present, back into her body, she is hit with a incredibly powerful contraction. Different, powerful in a new way, activating her, propelling her and the baby into the magical moment when one becomes two.

Georg’ann

Under a knotted shelf of ancient grey roots,
droplets fall intermittently
into the dark, CLEAR pool
where earth used to be
Periodic ripples on the still surface
LANKY girl jumps from rock to rock
a thoroughbred released from her STALL
face AGLOW with spring

Heather

In her DREAM, she BOLTS away from the CLOWN, only to run into the arms of a GHOUL.

Georg’ann

Hiding alone now
Not waiting AMONG the GROUP
For the GHOUL to show

Heather

I have LOVED every STRAY puppy, kitten that has crossed my path. My heart has broken with every dead bird, desiccated earthworm, even the skunk by the side of the road. But while my heart is not too PICKY, I have found fish more strange- from GUPPY to grouper, they fail to move me, despite their sometime beauty and grace. Is it the cold-blooded thing? Or perhaps the strange mouth gape or off-putting scales? The heart has its own reasons, even in matters such as these.

Georg’ann

Holding the wet clay in my hands,
beginning to shape it with eyes closed
squeezing, stroking toward memory
here, alone in my office,
I can almost GRASP it
the early childhood draw to mud, muck, GOOPY slime, and finger paint.
Sensory play that makes a mess,
leaves it traces everywhere.
Even the mouth craves to be filled with some sort of ooey, mushy goodness
Mashed potatoes, cream of wheat, bubble tea, banana, a frozen gas station GULPY.
Continuing the exploration
I am awash with glee.
A sweet little GUPPY swimming in my own pool,
flashing colors catch the light
movement silent, no splashing.
Clay infused water drips without sound
on my pants, shoes, the floor.
No adult chagrin accompanies their fall

Heather

Frustrated by the election results, the task is set: how to invite those with the LEAST POWER to hold accountable those elected. All the words: poor, underserved, disadvantaged, unhoused, etc, etc erase the reality of the lived experience, drawing lines, pretending that they are babies to be pulled out the river instead of one of us, doing the best we can with what we have, and then are thrown in the river by systems that never have to face consequences. We have been tokens played in a game without ever being invited to the table. We have BORNE the task of signalling virtue while our humanity is reduced. Still, the moment is less a call for an angry HORDE at the gates of power. No, it’s a time for cold anger, strategic, disciplined, organized. We will stand upstream and expose who and what is throwing so many babies into the river. Accountability. Persistence. A new locus of power and strength, together.

Georg’ann

Today’s words seem familiar
haven’t I already written a FABLE
in which a light continues
to SHINE
emanating it’s soft glow at nightfall
guiding me back WHERE woods meet OCHRE fields.
Refuge from the HORDE
YES, these are familiar words
turned into familiar themes
Internal light emanating
through my fingertips.

Heather

ABOUT to head out the door, I am making sure to EQUIP myself with everything we will need. Happy with the prospect of a day hike in the woods, I look over our lunch: a CHUNK of cheddar, some toasty RUSKS, an orange and some grapes. A bottle of water, and we are good to go. I call for Sandy, faithful lab companion. She had looked a bit worried and SULKY on her cushion, but now she is all tail wags and happy dog dance. “C’mon, girl, let’s grab David and get going!”

Georg’ann

We wandered without PAUSE
Hours and hours of sightseeing
Until sensory saturation
and low blood sugar hit like a sudden summer downpour
We stopped.
Sitting on the edge of yet another beautiful fountain
Watching an ebullient young boy kicking a plastic bottle
across the courtyard,
our SULKY mood lifted.

Heather

I was young. Or, at LEAST, that’s my excuse for having been okay with such a CHEAP date. Ah, AMORE! Ah, youth! He said it would be fun, and I suppose it was, even if I had to pay for my own ticket to the Renaissance FAIRE. The best part was the romantic sunset party on the BARGE, decked out in ribbons, with jugglers, mead and pear cider to drink, and a lute player acting the wandering minstrel. I confess I did a
scan of the other attendees, checking out the RANGE of possible new dates. Though, truth be told, it was probably not the best place to go looking.

Georg’ann

When presented with my options, I was tempted to FEIGN a rare illness resulting in a particularly unpleasant MANGE. Yet I wasn’t completely confident I had the acting RANGE to pull it off. It would require a bit of research, likely accompanied by disturbing pictures. Ew!

No, this definitely was not my best option. What other excuse could I concoct to avoid an evening of Dada inspired food and fashion with pretentious, and often vicious, octogenarians?

Heather

A PLACE to PLANT a tale,
A PLAID weaving of work and love,
All stripes and diagonals
Displayed in the commons,
The public PLAZA, hanging for all to see–
Tender moments, vulnerable spaces

Georg’ann

Oh to be filled with air
VAPID, floating
Not questioning what’s on your PLATE.
Or anyone else’s.
The PLANK nothing more than a diving board.
Accumulating baubles, trinkets, and fruit in the PLAZA,
no concern for the hungry vendors.
Or the ragged children playing in the dirt

Heather

When I HEARD the birdsong, my heart leapt just a little bit. I was determined to finally see some warblers, and this might be my chance. A fence and the prospect of difficult going would not DEBAR me from giving it a try. With a firm grip on my walking stick and my binoculars swinging from my neck, I plunged in and headed for the stand of red CEDAR trees. I was soon rewarded with a spectacular view from the bluff. As for the birds? It’s the process as much as the goal, and I was as satisfied with the journey as I would have been with a whole flock of yellow warblers. My heart was still full and grateful for a spring trek in the woods.

Georg’ann

We didn’t RAISE her,
it wasn’t possible to BREAK
her FERAL nature.
Keeping her distance,
she returned day after day
warily and expectantly
waiting under the CEDAR
for whatever we set out.
One morning in early spring, we found a headless baby bunny at the backdoor.
We accepted her gift.
Later that summer she left us her kittens to tame.

Heather

On the MAPLE wood BOARD, I had arranged an ARRAY of cheeses, nuts, and breads. I added some rosemary sprigs, a few sprays of mint that had begun to flower, and finally a few twigs from the small-leafed and intensely scented thyme growing by the kitchen door. I surveyed the results with satisfaction. You would have thought that members of a papal CURIAE, CIRCA 1500 were arriving, instead of the priests from the local parish. Humming a little tune, I stepped away from the table. Just a few more minutes to get rid of this apron, touch up my hair, and they should be here. Tossing the apron aside, I headed upstairs, not noticing that the back door was ajar… Ah, if only I had noticed, so much would have been different that afternoon!

Georg’ann

Eclipse

In the parking lot I paused momentarily
to pet the skinny creature.
He wove through my legs, black fur dusty.
Re-entering the store,
I bought him a bit of food.
The next day I came again.
He was there.
My daughter was there.
Her father was there.
I ADORE clear signs
that confirm my impulses
The store owner and neighbors confirmed
he was a STRAY. We took him home.
After a few days his coat gleamed.
My mother said he was art in motion.
Every image would go VIRAL
if this wasn’t CIRCA late 90s,
before the posting culture.

Heather

A night made for sneaking down to the pond, we can not resist. We FLOAT on our backs, stare up at the moon, round as a MELON. Warm nights, cool water, you and I in easy companionship – I COULD get used to this. Shall we defy all LOGIC and ignore mundane practicalities and choose a life of sensual pleasures?

Georg’ann

To write a HAIKU
Let thoughts flow like a RIVER
Less SOLID LOGIC

Heather

A SHADE has been cast over my day. Vaguely headache-y, I tried to ENTER with enthusiasm into my tasks, but instead just feel blah. And now, I am feeling in the mood for a RETRO evening: books, cards, jigsaw puzzles, anything but being on a screen. I could even be content sitting and staring, like a traveler on the METRO, watching the world go by.

Georg’ann

Writing with you each morning
from our own spaces has become the practice
I didn’t know was possible,
a way to UNITE
internal process, intention, and friendship.
Each piece supports the OTHER,
where I’d imagined them in isolation, competing for attention.
Profundity was disguised in simple pleasure,
It’s quaint, perhaps RETRO,
to start the day with play.
Let’s puzzle it out, write our way forward.
someday together make sandcastles on the METRO.

Heather

A PLUMP peach to SHARE
No effort need we EXERT
Under COVER of the BOWER
Lips press, yellow flesh yields
I’m a GONER for sure –
Cupid, that JOKER, has made me love’s fool

Georg’ann

The FIELD is transformed
One day barren brown, the next an impressionist painting
the spectrum of bright greens infused with patches of purple
Each SHARE perfectly proportioned,
POWER to awe in the balance of complimentary hues that COVER acre upon acre
No camera can capture,
No TONER can print
the shades of spring
This palette the backdrop for the dance of bee and BORER
as the doe and her fawns stand still in the waning sunlight

This morning’s reflection stirred modes where no JOKER belongs,
A time of quiet before his arrival at the breakfast table
when the day takes on a new cadence.

Heather

A HEART open, 
Ready for adventure,
I pass a STOOP
Where sits a DOTTY lady
Who sings with glee.
I cry “DITTO!”
And, now, two goofy ladies
Sit by the sidewalk
Singing with glee!

Georg’ann

Within the kitchen cabinets
things mostly stay
within a logical GROUP
dependent, of course,
on the idiosyncratic notions
of the original organizer.
Under the sink oils, vinegars, spirits and cleansers gathered in individual tubs,
logic overthrown by necessity
the height and width
of the containers that only fit here.

Does the COMET ever cross the bounds and land next to the balsamic or the vermouth?
If so is there a dispute?
Will rosewater call Thieves All Purpose Cleaner to come restore order, wielding his BATON, aka trigger spray?

Order in the drawers is more communal,
Knives cavort with spoons,
Forks are forever mingling

The garlic press, pizza cutter, and corkscrew seem to know they should hang together.
One gets pulled, DITTO the next, and then the next,
as if a chorus line dancing toward dinner and a movie.

Heather

I am lucky – I am not alone, I have people to SHARE this BUMPY ride with me. Closely held, dear to my heart, fellow travelers who without hesitation, PLUNK down right next to me, buckle in and will hang on until the end. My gratitude for the moments when UNPIN ourselves from routine, take chances and UNZIP the layers that keep our true selves hidden! What wild adventures of the heart and mind follow!

Georg’ann

I didn’t pause to THINK it through
A dare was given, I took it
Strolled out to the street, flashed the first car that passed,
I’d already pulled the zipper down,
in preparation for the 1st passerby
hands ready to open quickly the soft folds of my hoodie

What were the chances
that Steve Smith, or any other classmate,
would be driving with his family up Hillside
around midnight on a Saturday night?
Slim, to impossible, those
are the chances
but there we have it.

I didn’t know until Monday morning
Walking into Mrs. Morris’s 4th grade
I began to INCUR the backlash
of the slumber party antics

That impetuous girl was not me.
She was a creature of the night
Taking a risk in the dark
To seek acceptance
this would not be the last time I regretted my decision to UNZIP

Heather

I lean over the display case, and one CAMEO in particular catches my eye. It is delicate and a little mysterious. Simple, too, just a figure on a chair holding a staff, in black on a white stone. The noises around me recede into a background DRONE, as I feel pulled into this incredible intersection of beauty and history. Curious, I read what the curator WROTE about this ancient piece, the personification of the city of Rome from the 4th century. What marvelous work, skill, and art.

I try to imagine how many attempts it took to achieve this, how many stones BROKE, how many calluses built up before getting to this perfect object. I feel so grateful for this moment.

Georg’ann

Is there a patron SAINT to guide me through this CHORE?
One to whom I can light a candle, chant a prayer
in exchange for a modicum of comfort.
Where am I to begin?
How deeply should I PROBE?
Do I go for BROKE or turn away?
On my knees, a supplicant
seeking to be released
from the responsibility of acting alone
for the good of so many.

Heather

Eyebrow raised, I POINT to the WAFER-thin spot in the back of the station wagon. With a LAUGH, you shrug, and pick up my golf clubs. “There is simply no way those are going to fit!” Taking things out and starting to repack the car, you begin, “Did I ever tell you about that time I turned down a chance to CADDY for Tiger?” “Tiger Woods???! Why have you never told me this before???” You are starting to shove the clubs in.”Well, no, ÄshoveÑ it was, um, Tiger ÄshoveÑ Mahoney, he was three-time winner of the city tournament. ÄShoveÑ When I was just starting out, he was the guy to beat.” I roll my eyes. “Tiger Mahoney. You have got to be joking.” I shake my head. Arms linked, we step back together and survey the loaded down car. “Lucky we aren’t also bringing a KAYAK.” “Oh my.” He tosses me the keys. “You take the first shift. Packing your clubs wore me out.” “Sounds good – let’s go!”

Georg’ann

From last fall I retain an IMAGE
of a bushy tailed squirrel
scurrying across the hillside,
ACORN in mouth,
as it makes a HASTY getaway
I float close to the shore
my KAYAK moving with the wind
Wondering why on land everything
seems to move with urgency while the frenzy for survival
lets go on this lake
This is what I want to remember
How to float with the wind
Not run against time

Heather

Putting away her PHONE, she leaned across the shared PLATE of beautiful cheeses and crisp crackers. “Tell me again about the time you visited the cheetah rescue center in South Africa.”

Georg’ann

If only I could SHARE my PLATE,
too much, it’s all mine,
no morsel can be consumed
by another
as if it were pot roast night
all my friends vegetarian
A platter full with the beefy beast
only I can tame

Heather

I was feeling less than READY that day. I sat in my usual spot at the table. I had pen, paper, a cup of coffee, and my laptop for when it would be time to send the column to my editor. I stared out the window, watching birds SWOOP and flutter, negotiating with the squirrels for the seed I had put out. The usual questions swirled in my head: Could I put it off longer? Would it matter if I were being paid more than CHUMP change to churn out these columns? Was it time to take out the laundry?

As usual, my answers to all of the questions were “No.” I picked up the stack of printed emails, put on my “Aunt Mary” persona dispensing advice to all and sundry, and began.

That is when it happened, the moment that changed everything. Looking back, I can’t – but wait, I am getting ahead of myself. Like I told the police, I wasn’t sure how much time passed before I heard the THUMP. (When I get going as “Aunt Mary” answering queries, saving marriages, and wiping away the tears of my public, I tend to lose track of time.) Like I told the police, I really couldn’t understand why a body would be dumped unceremoniously in my root cellar.

Georg’ann

Seed season again

Packets spread across the table
new ones impulsively purchased,
and those left from last year, most still unopened
year after year, varieties of snow peas, zinnias, sunflowers, spinach, arugula, radishes, and beets.

Always more seeds than I can possible PLANT,
Ideas like the butterflies, bees and hummingbirds
I imagine flittering from blossom to blossom

Standing on the STOOP, donning a ridiculous GETUP,
I gaze across the yard
content to let the garden TRUMP all else today

Sprinkling specks of brown into expanses of brown
giving each a tender little THUMP
this gesture, with one’s index finger,
part of so many daily tasks

No green thumb needed
to yield bountiful beauty
even if not a single seed sprouts,
even if most remain in their packets,
I tended, allowed, accepted
my true nature
grateful for what I already had

Heather