20 October 2010

just south of the temperate rainforest


Some mornings 
            I am captivated by the view from my desk window
of birds rustling up breakfast in the creekbed,
or a deer’s silhouette in winter sun.
Other mornings 
            I stand outside with my feet firmly planted
in redwood mulch by the time the ground thaws,
ready with a shovel and bag of loam.
But today
            I drift about, like a lone balloon
vanishing in the morning fog; 
my mind, gossamer.

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