There was once a need to scavenge every day for food, to fetch water, to gather firewood.
There was once a need to spend hours tending to the fields, tending to the animals, mending the clothes, making the candles.
There was once a time when doing the laundry meant spending hours by the wash basin or the river.
In some parts of the world, and in some chosen lifestyles, there still is. But in the life that I live, with as many things as there are that seemingly need to get done every day, there is still plenty of free time, which is time that needs to be filled in some other way.
I sometimes wonder, Why am I trying to write one short poem a day for a year? What is the purpose?
And the best explanation I can come up with is, Why not?
(1)
The new house next door
is being built piece by piece,
as my life unfolds.
(2)
Like the little brook
on my land, always the same,
always new—this life.
(3)
A flock of starlings
flies in perfect unison.
A lone hawk watches.
(4)
The morning after,
we kissed goodbye at the door
like we’d meet again.
(5)
Today at my desk
I fell asleep while drinking
a cup of coffee.
(6)
Waving from the ship,
your hand seemed to hold the sun
so it wouldn’t set.
(7)
The cherry blossom’s
lesson today, letting go
is a part of life.
(8)
Standing in the cold,
I look at my son, watching
the game from the bench.
As always, thanks for reading.
