Soaking Wet

beside the weeping willow, beside the stilled pond

I sit pondering the inevitable like a southerner

sitting in the shade with a bamboo pole and line

in the water, waiting for a nibble that never arrives...

a sun drenched day develops slowly n the

foreground of the great smokies whose misty mornings

reveal less and leass about its famed heritage...

an ill-conceived habit creeps out of the sunrise

basking in its new found glory of awareness, letting

my mind drift along the gentle currents of the flights

of magestic eagles as they survey the forecasts of

impending rain in their skies...  where earlier none

was expected and sitting here was a good idea;

like Monet, lilies grow at the far side of the pond

but are still visible from my lines-of-sight and

seemed to have multiplied since I've been here...

a solitary bullfrog on a lily sits as if it were

deciding to take a dip in the murky waters..  it sits

and stares at me for what seems like hours,

seeking my approval which never comes its way...

a pair of cranes, a couple I suppose, casually

look around as if they feel uncomfortable feeling

comfortable here watching me drift off into a

state of cosmic consciousness as the wind they

call Moriah gently combs my thining hair...

my ponderings continue as does the inevitable;

whispers of a forgotten madness sprinkles itself

all around me like a carefully constructed and

well orchestrated rain and when I open my eyes

to confirm realize that I am now soaking wet.

26 October 2021