under the plums

coffee under the plums


and the sounds of birds


chirping


rustling in the trees
nesting,


as I have
on this grassy land. 


my Temple has created a temple here,


of bird baths and candles and potted plants.


the man I love in the magic school bus, 


unconventional,


rugged,


real. 


fragrance from the ocean washes in as

salty waves crash against

the cliffs below us


up on the Mesa


safe up high,


yet close enough to be reminded of water’s power

when one must be humbled in the fragility of humanity


so we tend to the gardens.


everything that is,

is part of our now.


balanced moments.


I breathe in and the breeze responds


with its exhale

brushing gently through my hair


like his do.


I sip slowly,

in solitude,

my drink warming from the inside


mirroring sun sensation on my cheeks


shoulders


my bare chest

.

Do you ever watch something fall from a tree,

a stick or a leaf or a piece of fruit,

and feel gratitude for nature’s allowing of your witness?



tall grass swaying around me


perched here,

crossed legs on plastic


silent, somehow,

when alone,


but coming together in a chorus that invites one to sway


with them,

the grasses.


be swayed, 


eyes closed, 


up on the Mesa, 


we nest.