Nearly enough

I like the sound of my phone
not ringing, the stillness
of my door

unknocked.

I like the invitations
I do not receive,
the peaceful hollow of

my empty mailbox.

Unsolicited for any
response, I offer
none.

Now, I have nearly enough time.

The hummingbird
feeder needs sugar
water; the nuthatches,

more seed.
If not me, who will
admire the new wren

fledglings, the blossoms
of each disparaged
weed, the generosity

of air, of water?

Who will note the
indelible chartreuse
of baby Bibb lettuce,

the antics of young fox
squirrels, the speckled
fawns gamboling

at their mother’s heels?
While velvet accretes
on the bucks’ antlers,

portending autumn,
autumn already and the
rut, autumn and the

rut and the turning
of another season. I’ll
be so busy come

fall:  my phone not
ringing, my untroubled
door, my mailbox

asking nothing.

Then, I will have nearly enough time

to admire the leaves’
changing complexion, the
air’s sharpening edge,

how day yields
so willingly
to night;

every vanishing hour.

Tags: birds, communion, creative writing, flowers, gardening, loneliness, nature, poem, poetry, seasons, spirituality, wildlife