It’s my favorite summer sitting place
with its canopy of spruce boughs
and the endless green. On days
like today, when a breeze whispers
through, all the trees waltz to its song.
In the morning, the air is filled with
bird song. At night, fireflies sparkle,
their lights floating all the way up
to the tops of the trees and beyond
until they look like shooting stars.
Memories float up from the weathered
pine floor, stored over thirty-some years,
a parade of dear ones, conversations,
confessions, laughter, comfortable stretches
of silence, dogs, cats, once, a painted turtle.
Mostly it’s just me, my thoughts adrift
in the spaciousness, the Yes of it,
wrapped in sweet contentment,
drinking its deep joy.