a poem about writing

and clear blue skies

I keep trying to write,

but the wind blows,

and leaves flutter

and the autumn sky’s

bright blue clarity

won’t let go of my gaze.

I keep trying to write,

but I see my bird feeders, empty,

and wonder if God will feed my neighbors

if I keep putting it off.

I keep trying to write,

but voices from yesterday,

and tomorrow,

bark loudly, drowning out the whispers of

right here, right now.

I keep trying to write,

but broken phrases,

and short attention spans,

are all that seem to find me.

So I type the words I know.

I capture what I see.

I let my eyes linger on the sky.

There is a rhythm here,

to this life.

A dance. I feel it.

I’m learning how to trust.

I’ve been trying to write,

about this and a million other things.

And tomorrow,

I will try again.

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My best attempt to capture what the sky looks like from my office window, along with the bird feeder that needs filling. Obviously, this doesn’t do it justice.