Front Porch Forest Monastery
Today I sit on my porch
A quick walk to the car
Was long enough to capture me
So I stop and sit amid the day
It is harder to find my breath
While the wind swirls my skin
Nature is never still
So I let myself lick my dry winter lips
And suddenly there it is
Breath tingling coolly
And mixing with the breeze
My clothes warmed by the sun
Give off a scent of fresh sheets
From my grandmother’s clothesline
Slight sweetness wafts my way
Daffodils or honeysuckle climbing
Some finches warble wildly
And a sleepy owl hushes softly back
Leftover leaves rustle and crunch
Underfoot of bugs or squirrels
No tigers here but large trucks
That speed and rattle past
An emergency siren calls out
A quick train whistle warns
But I am still enough and settling
I do not close my eyes
Granules embedded in the stone
Glisten and wink with the sun
Like sand on a beach, or dying stars
Tree shadows dance on concrete
Darkly contrasting the grey
Then fade as clouds travel by
A chill wins out without the sun for warmth
The season has only just begun
To fight the winter for its arrival
Wind chimes sing out all the while
So I choose one for my bell
I bow to this world
And rise grateful to have been in it
— by me
Front Porch by Art Scholz
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