My poem for today:

KNOCKING

Something is always knocking at his life,

thumping in a light-hearted manner

that would make winter sing like summer,

but he usually doesn’t hear the knocking.

Any dangerous days would be holy and playful

if he could only hear

the helpful knocking at his heart,

the little sounds of this loving universe

asking to be a friend,

to find a place for him

among the celebrating stars and planets

including this thoughtful and lively earth. 

This morning, I went for a lonely (Cia wasn't with me) and tiring ride down River Road to Mystic and back.  I didn't use my inhaler, which caused me to tire very easily, so I puffed once by the church, and then had a fairly lively ride home. I loved seeing the white sails of six or seven small boats on the water by the Seaport, fluffing along in the very slight winds, with voices occasionally passing over from them. (Cia was visiting with her good friend Lee, having a cuppa and catching up on the news.)