THE WOMAN ON THE PORCH

This is a poem I wrote about a woman on the porch of my apartment building.

To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven:
...a time to keep silence, and a time to speak. ~Ecclesiastes 3:1&7b

THE WOMAN ON THE PORCH

In the midst of a summer evening,
I step out onto the porch
to water my plants.

A warm breeze is strengthening
through shadows left by the falling sun:
The suggestion of a storm
assembling from the four winds -
like an army arraying for battle.

Not fifteen feet away,
toward the west end of the porch,
sits a plump middle-aged woman
with long brown, graying hair
hiding her face.

Her sadness is tangible in the
solitary rhythm of her rocker,
as her gaze travels beyond the
houses, condos and trees
to an isolated place in her mind
where she is the only welcomed visitor.

Watering my plants and
embracing the warmth of
the wind, I wonder...
breathing a prayer for
the woman on the porch.