I wrote this around 1988.
The Loud Lips of Life
sitting here…
watching my trees dance to the muted tune of a breeze
two birds lovingly wing their way through the sun-glistening evergreen
as a hummingbird stands on the wind for a Santa-red drink from its feeder.
squirrels play tag on the sculptured-brown forest carpet
while hundreds of bugs dance in the conical warm sun.
here I sit surrounded by my four cats
who occasionally open their mouths as if to say they're enjoying the view.
Life is signing to me for
there is no gentle whooosh of air through the trees,
or flipflipflipflip of the birds as they move through the air,
or the HUMMMM of the humming bird's singing wings,
or BUZZZZ of a congregation of bugs.
Where is that resounding crr-uunnch of dry-crisp wintery leaves being trampled on by squirrels?
I'm learning to read the Lips of Life.
The Loud Lips of Life
sitting here…
watching my trees dance to the muted tune of a breeze
two birds lovingly wing their way through the sun-glistening evergreen
as a hummingbird stands on the wind for a Santa-red drink from its feeder.
squirrels play tag on the sculptured-brown forest carpet
while hundreds of bugs dance in the conical warm sun.
here I sit surrounded by my four cats
who occasionally open their mouths as if to say they're enjoying the view.
Life is signing to me for
there is no gentle whooosh of air through the trees,
or flipflipflipflip of the birds as they move through the air,
or the HUMMMM of the humming bird's singing wings,
or BUZZZZ of a congregation of bugs.
Where is that resounding crr-uunnch of dry-crisp wintery leaves being trampled on by squirrels?
I'm learning to read the Lips of Life.
