Naomi

Murmurings of wildlife abound in this place of suburbia,
but no one confines me to Lazy Boy or love seat.  Curious, I mimic
safari through the back lots to evening enchantment, to once again
amble forth in enthusiasm, eye to eye with a white-coated doe,
to a kind of communion offered by nature at her best.

The tips of evergreen branches spread to her delicate movements.
I call her Naomi.  I don’t know why I call her that, other than
some inner reach to assign something pleasant and meaningful
to this lovely creature, and yes, something as so beautiful.
Precious on all fours, she is bubbling forth of mid May
rain, a kind of fairy princess glimmering beneath
a silver sickle moon. 

At the edge of a gazebo I am under her watchful regard; her
countenance an image of innocence.  Naomi’s eyes absorb
the abundant starlight.  Her breath, like mine, smokes the
frigid air.  My vantage point is close enough--Naomi
makes this clear.  An occasional choppy wind
disturbs the moment, yet all is fair beneath
Orion’s gaze, for creatures great and
small, for courage and kinship.

Each night is like a homecoming, a dazzle and a force,
for tales are printed on pristine pages with lace-work
of paw prints in the snow, and rabbit tracks linking
tree to tree.  I am all too happy to escape any
onslaught of human foibles, the caloric
bluster of oratory, the bleed of huff.

I cannot accept lessons from florid-faced folks
eager to spew insolence or vitriol knowing
Naomi is near, for she provides me the
sweetest company.


30 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
1-15-16