Hot day.
The mall is packed.
Swimming lessons need a driver
(kids can’t get anywhere by themselves, after all).
Joggers sweating past.
Gas mower chugs obnoxiously around the yard.
I miss the soft swisha-swisha of dad’s old Rotary mower
when summer was gentler
and filled with children’s laughter.
Time for breath
at last.
Breathe in freedom
from responsibilities,
to anyone but myself.
Inhale inspiration
Exhale exhaustion
Breathe free.
rippling waves
sparkling with emerald, peridot, citrine
storm tossed tree.
Hush.
The evening chorus:
Frogs throat singing
with susurrating trees
Summer serenade.
Out the smallest window
verdant velvet valleys glisten green,
fold under blue grey hills
beneath a sky without a touch of cloud.
Today dew settles on leaves and reflects
the illumination of heaven.
Lord Baden-Powell had it right when he advised the Scouts to Be Prepared
especially in summer paradises, the drop in visitors are far from rare.
But while the public zones might meet pass inspection
the bedrooms require some interjection and disinfection
Explosions of laundry piled in the guest room
Slow motion quandry to solve in a hurry
Hang up the phone, fly into a flurry
Hang up the clothes; Come we must hurry!
In just twenty minutes make this space habitable
for twenty minutes we must be indefatigable!
Make up the beds. Whip round the vacuum,
then answer the door bell crooning, “Good afternoon!”
Oh, if only those
air conditioner fans would stop
then I could listen to
the summer serenading
of the frogs.
Shawn L. Bird 