Week of Paying Attention, Day 2, October 3

Faithful Place

Again, leftward and out of sight, a chorus of mockingbirds trill their hundredth song while

ahead of me murky waters languish,

dusted with soft yellow Yankee pollen transported on last night’s wild north winds

from as far away as Waco.

Overhead thunders the Great Mosquito Duster, sending Tom skittering toward me from

 across the damp, planked walkway.

A solitary Hungry Hummer chatters, hovers, darts, then dips into liquid bacon and eggs served up

at Red Saucer Diner.

On my lap, Tara French’s Faithful Place holds a day’s worth of suspense, murder and intrigue

 While before and all around me offers up quite another tale -

This is my Faithful Place.

(well, it's more than 7 line, but it's only 5 thoughts).

And I couldn't help it, a second poem (7 lines!) just bubbled up. 

What’s the Story?

Nothing tells the tale

of a wild and stormy night

quite like a soaked kitty

come in from his prowl,

downed and spent palm fronds scattered across the yard,

languishing pollen-laden waters,

and my damp chaise lounge.