She waddles across my yard out of the woods,
relaxed and casual. She gazes at me
standing there with a hose by the coneflowers
like I might be some curious bit of wildlife,
neither threatening nor edible, just odd.
I wish we could talk.
We’re not far apart—pretty close, really,
she and I, in our natural habitats,
yet also different—
me with my adolescent wish to be included
and she with her wordless, absolute surety
of who she cares about being liked by
and how.
____________
Weather Report
Particularity,
increasing throughout the day.
Your unique little world
will differ from someone else’s,
and both will pass
like a steady breeze.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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