Observations 10-1-17

It’s harder now to see

beautiful things

like exhortations to sky

in a rock song or the way the cat

licks between her toes while bathing.

These days, I might listen

to the whole record not hearing

a single word, feed kitty

when she meows but keep going.

I barely noticed various shades

of scorched grass blanketed

with wet leaves, and it must have been

before that when my foxglove browned.

I am quite aware of the cold space

on my thigh where your hand

should rest, the bitterness of each

sip of discount coffee, my tailbone.

I know that isn’t much.

Linking this up in solidarity and very, very late to Karin’s prompt in the Imaginary Garden: Thinking of the Little Things