On a sunnier day, I’d sitout on that benchwith my notebook, penning a poem,hawk soaring overhead,hunting breakfast for his babies.I’m no falconerbut can appreciate his good looksand care of his nest,zeroing in on his prey--Oops. Maybe I’d better go in now.
50 words on the scary shit outside my office window for Words Count With Mama Zen in the Imaginary Garden.