Being
by Laura Foley

She worries about the roofers
who haven’t shown up, the excavators
pulling rocks from our yard,
shoring up a sagging foundation,
beans in need of planting,
mulching with straw,
flowers requiring weeding,
bags to pack for our trip.
But it’s spring, and I–
hard to admit, but I
need to sit by a stream,
watch sun dazzle water,
flash of a red wings over the pond,
sway of new spring grasses.
Like the painted turtle
perched on a log I saw
just yesterday, stunned by the day,
I need to do nothing, but sit,
under the remarkable sun.



 

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