I scan the morning’s headlines over coffee.
It’s the usual nightmare of conflict, corruption and crime.
As if I’d swallowed a cup of cement, the news pulls me down,
burying the morning’s hope in its weight.
But then I notice that the sun is shining, and it pulls me
out the door. My eyes see the clear sky, the light
filtering through the summer leaves. My heart , however,
is still heavy with sorrow for us all. “Go to the park,”
a soft voice whispers inside me. “Take a walk,
clear your head.” So I go.
After a while, I wander toward the garden.
And there, perched atop an echinacea,
a tiny creature looking like a winged horse,
its face painted like a circus pony, sits
sipping nectar. “Are you real?” I ask, astonished.
But there is no doubting it. Or the song
that my heart begins to croon. Here,
in this now, is Yes, is beauty. Here,
in this now, reality expands, filled with joy
and waking. And everything else is but dream.