Peace Comes Dropping Slowly

Dense canopy turned October thin, the crape myrtle proves shade enough for late afternoon. The old wrought iron still bounces. Breeze helps, too.  The other afternoon guests—catbird, brown thrasher, female cardinal, small mystery pair—seem okay with my company.  The squirrel, though, slinks above my head as though she fears I have designs on the nut in her jaws. When all I want is to be still and look around for signs.

Author: Phoebe Dishman

Phoebe H. Dishman was born and raised in Beaumont, Texas. She is a wife, mother, and grandmother. An essayist and poet, she teaches adult Sunday school, compiles a monthly prayer calendar, edits the Big Thicket Association quarterly bulletin, and keeps a keen eye and ear open for birds.

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