Saturday, May 11, 2013

May, a poem


May arrived on a murmur of bees
and distant mowers. The wordless rains
of night had carried Spring away

and a pungency of privet
now frames the day, stinky-sweet snow
bending to a bramble embrace.

There is no purpose in such a day.
It dozes. It dreams beyond its fences
into fields of the fresh-turned future.

Stephen Brooke ©2013

A bit of verse, just to prove I'm not totally vegetating here...

Doing Things

I don’t have to do anything. Not a thing. The rest of my life could be spent moldering here on Peanut Road, with no duties, no obligations. I have all I need, a home (albeit in need of some repair), a small assured income. I’m close enough to a town that I wouldn’t even need a car and its attendant expenses.

But then, why bother with such a life? I’ve been a bit purposeless the past month as I adjusted to my new circumstances and it’s mighty darn boring. Which was okay — a little boredom was welcome for a while.

So it’s time to get busy again. Of course, Spring brings lots of gardening and yard work and that has helped ease me back into an active routine. The creative stuff is starting to fit itself in.

And, in time, some travel. I’ve not made it to the beach yet but that will be soon. I am almost certainly going to make it to the Florida Folk Festival in two weeks — the first time I’ve been able since 2008. It looks, at this point, that I will only be there for one day, probably Sunday. But that’s a whole lot better than not going anywhere at all, isn’t it?