Now is the gentlest time
of all:
spring sun
breezes
swaying
wind chimes,
porch shaded
squirrels
young
fresh
wide eyed
perched
on the fence
enjoying
peanuts
we’ve
strategically placed
for you to watch
the feasting,
dancing
jubilant
chanting
in your own
secret language.
They are as young
as you,
their fur still bright
and clean,
paws small
and jaws
so tender
they struggle
fiercely
to shed
the peanuts’
coarse skin,
all the while
a mischievous eye
turned
towards you:
as if feeling
the rhythm
of your stomps
and calls.
These are the days
the city longs for,
when the rains cease
and the silence
turns into song
as every being
celebrates
warmth
longer days
cool mornings:
when ravens waken
those sleeping
with their piercing
demanding calls
and song birds
answer timidly
as if in apology
for these black pirates,
marauders
tricksters
I’ve come to love…
We place
a special
mound of peanuts
just for them
in the corner
of the fence.
They’ve come to
expect it –
watching us
perched
on the highest
branches
of this hundred
year old maple tree
as if they’ve done it
for just that long.
Their calls are
distinct
high pitched
directed
clearly to us.
If we doddle,
they buzz us
and alight
on the roof
to wait
complaining
loudly,
You point
and laugh,
then swerve
to my side
for
comfort
and protection,
peering from under my arms
whispering
in your tender
babble.
The afternoon brings
naps
for both of us:
under the hum
of the fan
we rest
on cozy sheepskins
our breath
in sink:
a perfect lullaby
the dog
cannot resist
as he lies
at our feet.
This is our dream time,
to plot
adventures
in green lined
streets
perfumed
with the scent
of blooming roses
and lilacs.
In a short while,
you will run
and fetch
“zapatos”
and point at
the door
knowing
all to well
there
is so much
to discover,
I will oblige
and plunge
into afternoon
heat
to see
the world
through your
young and tender
eyes
and rejoice
at the chance.
