the chickens are on vacation
their eggs are nowhere to be found
it seems they must be exploring
something loftier than laying on the ground
yellow blue moon in the eastern sky
three boys: one tall one six one small
flash lights darkness
a few short years
darkness will be home
to a teenage boy
and the whole of them)
this moment is truth:
rejoice in them
that is all there is
As I write, jars of peach syrup “ping” as they cool. Fifteen pounds of plums picked from the neighbor’s neglected tree sit on the counter awaiting the same pureed fate. All three boys are in bed after a full day: some school, some sword fighting, a visit with friends, and lots of reading and being read to. Their bodies wrestle under the sheets after another well-lived and perfectly ordinary day. At home.
H O M E.
It’s a little bit location. It’s a lot of other things: contentment, service, commitment, gratitude, work, imperfection, love. My feet are sinking into this dirt. This grass is plenty green.