Where is the Poetry in This Day?
Is it in the screech the baby phoebes make when their mother brings food to their nest on the porch rafter?
The meditative in and out of a sewing needle, readying seasonal clothes for summer?
The silence that lingers between the needle and the pen my husband is writing with on the other side of the porch?
The sound of a fat bee buzzing?
The leisurely breeze exhaling?
The various shades of green I see in the yard when I lift my eyes?
The first red rose opened to expose its sunny yellow center, picked from the garden for a vase on the garden table?
The drop of rain hitting the upside-down empty compost bucket?
The startling rustle of two mating birds as they collide and tussle, then drop to the ground?
The jingle of sea glass chimes gifted to me the last time I was visiting the beach town of my childhood.
Where is the poetry in your day?