I'm content to wait.
I know all four points on this afternoon's list.
What to buy, what to do, how to prepare for the next doing,
later, beyond this pleasant spell.
Already after four, I am aware the day is marching forward
for so much of the world while I sit here on the porch,
observing, quiet, a visitor to my own thoughts,
framing the moment in a view of barely swaying tree limbs
covered in tiny violet petals hovering over a carpet of spring flowers.
Birds sing, I sigh, and still, feel nothing but a giving serenity,
its generous offer measured breath, almost-tears of presence, a listening.