BUT SHE AIN’T SAYIN’

Any second now it will rain; clouds hang like full udders. Mist obscures the buildings downtown and now it reaches here, a wall of tiny drops. Home is only 4 houses away.  Getting wet is no worry.

The clouds lose focus; the sky brightens a notch, the mist disappears.  A mockingbird in a mis-pruned deodar cedar 2 gardens over rehearses some tunes. I can’t spot it, but don’t try hard.  I keep weeding, raking, gathering, gathering, stuffing damp leaves into bags.  It sings without my attention.

The mist reassembles; this time it will get serious, surely.

Again, not.  Wattage rises.  The mockingbird samples a few more phrases.  Thoughts wriggle toward the light like worms escaping a bog; the usual diversions, laced with images of the catastrophe in Japan, everywhere on the news.

Grateful is a stratum of what I’m feeling, for a peaceful morning,

In this garden are several tablets of inscribed funerary marble, presumably for decoration.  Beneath the lemon tree one reads:

NO FAREWELL WORDS

WERE SPOKEN NO TIME

TO SAY GOODBYE

YOU WERE GONE BEFORE

WE KNEW IT AND

ONLY GOD KNOWS WHY

 

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4 responses to “BUT SHE AIN’T SAYIN’

  1. Beautiful: your writing and that on the tablet.
    J

  2. In Faro's Garden

    Thanks.

    R

  3. Grateful is a stratum of what I’m feeling, for a peaceful morning and the latest blossoms in Faro’s garden.

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