Porch Sittin'

I’d forgotten the simple joy of porch sittin’.

The soul-soothing power of wind chimes

and birdsong.

How watching the world go by

heals heart and mind.

Lost the thrill of a martin’s skyward dance,

the glory found in a zinnia’s crown,

and mysteries revealed by indigo wings

against gray, bare branches.

All such idle pleasures shunned

in favor of more productive,

more respectable pastimes.

 

Until unexpectedly,

a wren lit outside my door,

and in a loud trill bade me come,

sit a spell.

With uncharacteristic abandon,

disarmed by his demand,

I poured a cup of procrastination

and throwing off the ramifications,

wandered out onto the porch

to practice the art of doing nothing.

 

In my back porch sanctuary,

I whiled away the time,

pondering patterns of shifting light

upon the lawn,

and the short-lived beauty of daylilies.

Minutes rolled into hours,

lifting light and momentary troubles.

Seen giving way to unseen.

Solomon in all his glory could not

compare to the scene before me,

leaving me to wonder,

if creation does neither toil nor spin,

then why do I?

Then why, oh why, do I?