In the spring and summer and into the fall, I can hear birds every morning. In the winter, they either fly away or they're too cold to sing, because the morning air is silent of them.
What I notice most in the summer, though, is not the singing, but rather that one rare morning when the birds are silent.
What I notice most in the winter is not the silence of their absence, but rather that one rare morning when one bird sings.
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You life doesn't need to be this complicated.
My Hand
Shows how little hard work
I have done. Its creases
Mimic furrows on my forehead
From too much grief, but how
Would you know unless
I reached out to shake you hand.
[Disposable Poem March 20, 2010]
Dr. Mike
Thesauros: Thanks for the comment. Nothing complicated in listening to a bird sing. It just reminds me I have nothing to be anxious about.
Dr. Mike: Great poem -- yet again. Thanks.
HKS
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