Trees, Swallows and Carpenter Bees
Trees and swallows fill the air
As my head tilts cloudward.
Like a mother with her baby,
My hammock cocoons me,
while buzzing carpenter bees build.
Summer days on the coast,
How lucky to live free and clear,
Except for these intruding thoughts!
Images of a past world drill like those bees,
A scattered screenplay entering this holy sanctuary.
All this peace, except for the noise!
So which am I, present or past?
Or perhaps my future which is also vying for center stage?
Is it possible to live all over this map?
Might I exist simultaneously, in several streetscapes?
I am again drawn away from my sky, the warmth of this ‘moment’ cocoon.
How might I temper these variable worlds who joust for position?
Each feeling it is their privilege to inhabit, like squatters on new land,
Can’t they all share like children who feel loved, tended and pampered,
Intent on just the toy which usurps their attention?
Can’t they allow me this moment?
And back to my cloudy lying about,
I notice my breathing, feel this body which I work to inhabit,
Witness my thoughts which scatter, like the gnats above my head,
And off to another country as sleep takes me away,
All here, all within me, inside this cradling cocoon.
How my spirit loves to time-share, rent and purchase property,
And how dwarfed is my human self compared to this vagabond soul.
by BB Webb