Sunlight spills and pools on
my grandmother’s patchwork quilt
through the thin, embroidered
curtains in my room.
I step into the day…
opening doors and windows,
drawing in the morning air
cool off the ocean,
feeding cats and kittens on the deck,
squeezing juice and sipping as I write
what spills and flows,
feeling it come, letting it go,
lulled by errant phrasing as I stir
dusky berries into batter,
fresh cut lemon stinging
winter-weary splits on my thumb,
singing Joni Mitchell…
as I wash the spoons and bowls
and smell the muffins rising in the heat…
sweet days and dreaming,
bliss measured in moments,
fleeting in the light that pours
through my open windows.
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To read Lou’s bio and other Spring Runoff Entry, go here.
*Competition entry*
Wilderness Interface Zone 
I feel the ebb and flow of waves in each stanza, especially the third. Very refreshing.
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Joni Mitchell–Canadian (like most great Americans).
Wow. This poem reminds me of a day in Cardston staying at a roommate’s grandmother’s house. I slept in a room full of anthropology books and walked between the ranches and the reserve feeling like I was on the edge of two things. I feel a poem coming.
It also reminds me of a story I wrote in first person from a feminine point of view. Real eye-opener. The story ended with the woman warming herself around a cup of tea, looking through the kitchen window at the garden and taking comfort in her sweater. Your poem made me think of that.
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How did that get here? Some kind of hyperlink wormhole?
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In the parlance of the Interwebs, it’s called a “pingback.” And yeah, it is kind of a spacetime bridge between galaxies.
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This is lovely, so warm and relaxed, a soul at peace with itself, and all the layers of it’s life, taking time to just be in the moment.
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