written by me Gloria Poole aka gloria0817 and gloriapoole and gloria.poole and gloria_poole
Seven a.m.
Sunday morning
on my balcony.
From here
the stillness is palpable.
The quiet hangs
in the air
like a curtain.
No traffic
on the artery.
And the heliport beacon
flashes two at a time
in the morning fog.
A black bird
soars from its perch
on the edge of
a tall building
and spreads its wings
into elegant flight.
A lone car
sits in the parking lot
across the street
by the crepe myrtle
silhouetted by pink and green.
No human in sight
on the walking path
by the majestic trees
clothed in green
With branches reaching
to the heavens
like up-raised hands
of praise.
The city's night lights
are off
and look forlorn
against the blue-grey clouds.
Ah! I breathe in deeply
and feel the tension go.
I am safe
in this little niche corner
of the world
for the time being.
A yellow cab van
comes tentatively
down the artery
toward me
then past,
to their waiting human.
A butterfly fluttered by
and a jet
roars overhead
headed to outskirts
where airport is.
The copse of trees
to my left
are so impressive
that I study them
Every time
I sit on my balcony.
Two of them are pines,
the long leaf kind.
And they are side by side
intertwined
like a married couple.
The branches of one
interspersed among the branches
of the other
and vice versa.
Ever green.
And the other two trees
tightly knit are different
and voluptuously full of leaves,
fuller at the top
blocking out the sky.
And I wonder,
"could I plant my peach trees there?"
Would the matronly looking tree
watch over them?
Or would the four sets
of roots starve them?
The top branches of the pines
have finger-like needles
on foot long skinny stems
of wood,
like hands with fingers spread
making a visual
against the brightening sky.
The storm cloud shaped like
a Pillsbury dough boy
of a dark grey
moves over the trees
and morphs before my eyes.
Someone's air conditioner
sounds like a jet
on the tarmac
revving up for take-off.
And I think,
"that air conditioner
is struggling to cool
the humid air."
The storm cloud
changes shape again
and now looks like
a rectangular box
with clothes thrown in,
lumpy edges.
Traffic is beginning.
The hour has changed.
Now the storm cloud
looks like
a woman's wedding dress
With cap sleeves,
full bodice,
a bustle
and a long flowing skirt.
Then it dissolves.
The ribbon of the sidewalk
spanning the green
carpet of grass
curves to the left,
then back right
and then vanishes.
A car drives to the dumpster
and its trunk pops open
and a person exits
and removes two plastic bags
and puts them in
and then drives off.
And I think ,
"do people five hundred yards
from a dumpster
drive to it?"
It seems so.
Someone drives the artery
without a muffler,
and its raucous
this time of day.
A sound that diverts
my attention.
Now the dark clouds
are arranged
in front of me,
like eleven tree shapes
in a row!
I counted them.
"The heavens declare the glory of GOD"
The Holy Bible says,
and it's true.
The delicate blues, silver and greys
that are drops of water
arranged by GOD's own hand
always fascinate me.
The three flags
on the huge building
next to where the black bird flew
are still,
just there
on their poles:
The U.S., the Missouri
and the family crest.
And I am reminded
of an image
I saw long ago.
Of The Queen's flag
flying
from the turret,
to announce,
she's in residence.
The quiet is gone.
Cars, trucks and motorcycles
buzz by.
So does an ambulance.
The loud
air conditioner
is back ON!
The spell is broken.
Today is 11 August 2019 and it is 10:26am, central time.
I celebrated my "happy birthday yesterday not my real birthday" to quote one of my grand-daughters.
Gloria Poole, Registered Nurse, artist, writer, author, blogger, tweeter, painter, cartoonist occasionally; white divorced twice, Christian woman, U.S. citizen, Springfield, Missouri
