A spring soliloquy

Not being able to sleep, with the hell-weather outside and the coldness now creeping inside too, I'm reminded of something I wrote exactly a year ago, when and where it was spring.

Grown inside a tree here
The lemons sweet as, plums, as sweet as cherries
Accepting the extending light through a door ajar
to step out like the ginger cat in the very early
              morning
When the dew is still

Love in small shrugs and in passing the salt
In picking up the worst dustballs behind the door
adding some coffee when the grind is low
Love in all these things that
happen immediately one after the other:
Incessantly love in very small steps
              and quietly.


There. Remember to be happy.