The soul selects her own society – Emily Dickinson
Dogwood, crabapple, redbud
planted among native hard woods.
Roses drift into hydrangeas.
Sisterhood of pink and white bloom azaleas
offer sanctuary to rabbits, lizards, wrens.
Serendipity breezes sow columbine seeds.
Lace-capped canopies drip dew
into calla fonts.
The bench ─ slab of stone
mined from the mountain
of your birth.
Inscription ─ chiseled memories.
Your voice heard in chittering of birds,
laughter in soft notes of six-leafed windchime.
Dogs, frogs refuge in shaded nave.
Let the kids run wild, play
tag around trees, through shrubs.
Your bench, their safe spot.
Watch as they delight
in the popping-up of daffodils, rain lilies.
Lie with them on pallets of straw
listening to the stories told and retold.
Night drops
to chords of a mourning dove,
flicker of firefly.
INSTANT NOODLES 