The wind and the leaves and the
rake could not agree:
Is there to be one big pile?
many small piles? drifts?
Lines, compostedness, wheelbarrows?
some stuck in white hairs?
Some chewed by Little Dog?
some helping a chipmunk’s
Winter burrowing into the cold?
some batted high by Fluffy Cat?
If the rake wants one larg pile,
the leaves float away to breathe,
The wind insisting.
When the rake plans
Oh-so-neat rows of rusty piles,
Wind sings a new song,
Dancing and sweeping away rejoicing.
When the rake scores sunset crackling
Colors into lines, leaves slump
With sadness at this disguise
And the wind is their everfast friend.
When the rake lifts up
To the wheelbarrow a slaughtered
Mass of color,
The wind is filling the air with righteous
Indignation, well-toned chiming of the hour.
Then Chipmunk, Little Dog, and Fluffy Cat
all sit together on the leaf-encrusted rake,
Looking up spiritous in unison:
“See how well we befriend the leaves,the wind;
Let us now help you with the rake.
We will join in harmony, singing to the setting sun,
The new moom, the departed wind.”
All are now balanced with the required
Tension to maintin a posture
Of Harmony.
Conflict flown with the wind to
Another earth-side, another set of actors
On this stage of Being.
THESE VERSES TRULY CENTERED ME IN READINESS FOR TODAY!
granbee 