Sitting with Baba
by Scott Shaffer

We sit quietly out back–granddaughter Lucca and I–alone
in an Adirondak chair. The linden tree’s broad green canopy
and the soft breeze off the little lake make it cool and pleasant

on this muggy day. She cradles in my arms–all four months of her.
We gaze at the placid lake, like it’s some far-off panorama. A sweet sense
of slowness pervades our magical place, even as life bursts forth:

The bubbling fountain soothes. Blue jays sip the elixir and screech
for more peanuts; cardinals swap pure-toned love songs; green herons
trade prehistoric squawks, as they flop into the locust tree at lake’s edge.

The iconic pine in our yard hunches like a grizzled grandpa;
a wise smile seems to seep from his weathered face,
enhancing our illusion of an enchanted forest.

My little darling is usually chubby legs and arms flappin’;
grins, gurgles, and coos; endearing arched or furrowed brows;
squirmy-wormy-wriggly. But now she’s as calm as the lake.

Her stillness and pensiveness appear to say,
“I’m listening and marveling with you at this wonderland.”
Her brown eyes, like a mirror, reflect her contentment.

A smile slips onto her smooth, soft face, as if she’s thinking,
“Baba, we’re kindred spirits. I’m at peace here in this paradise,
resting with you.”


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