Simplicity

Writing beside a New England river in spring.

The perfect bee beside the perfect flower
on a perfect spring afternoon.
The natural order of this moment
is OK with me.

I do not need to know how many flights
are leaving today or the populations
of the cities on either end of this bridge.

It is enough I can see the rapids
reflecting an afternoon sun
and hear the consistent sound
of the river melting over smooth rocks.

I can smell the fresh spring air
and feel the sun lapping my pale white skin
exposed for the first time after a hard winter.

My legs are strong enough to support my frame,
while my eyes are sharp enough to notice two ducks
flying up the winding river valley.

My fingers are supple enough to mold around my pen
and my fingertips sensitive enough
to feel the words I am writing.

All this, while my lungs are taking in the warm air
as my heart beats with a regularity that is absent
albeit desired in every other area of my life.

The sound of gulls drowns out the jets
as I swallow all the sunlight
I possibly can.