Chairs

This morning, after watering the various plants and flowers, which are now taking on their fall tones, I continued my early morning celebration by soaping myself in cool water and rinsing with cold. It was a bit like bathing in a river and then standing under a waterfall. The shower space is small, but there is a skylight in the bathroom. Only in the dark days of winter do I resort to artificial light. I have, though, showered in the dark many times. I have also showered with my eyes closed.

I picked the last of the grapes this afternoon, although there are still several small second-crop bunches that will ripen in the coming weeks, and which will taste just as good.

I also picked two very long, very straight cucumbers.

I am writing this while sitting on the floor. I have been avoiding chairs lately.

August 17, 2021

Chairs

Not all of them are happy:
some groan because they remember,
and wish they could escape
into the next room.

Others weep when they’re alone,
or worry about the children
as the light changes and shadows fall.

Up early, I see them in the gloom:
which ones, I wonder,
are afraid to meet the dawn?

Songs and Letters, June 1, 2006
Another Song I Know, Cosmopsis Books, 2007

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