The Lovely Ladies

For years I have met regularly with a pair of friends nearly as old as I am.  We call ourselves The Lovely Ladies. We used to meet in one another’s homes.  Now, of course, by Zoom. 

We share our lives.  We bring a poem we love or we read and discuss a book.  We have been so bold as to give ourselves permission to talk about our aches and pains.  Even death.  Our own and the death that is so essential to the world around us. 

Three old ladies, we share our evolving lives. 

A few weeks ago we gave ourselves an assignment.  Write a song of gratitude.

Here is mine.

A Song of Gratitude for

snow,

for its falling whisper,

for the gentle way it holds the Earth,

holds the glittering sunlight,

holds even the city’s light-polluted sky

against its breast in the dark.

For red flash of bird

outside my window,

for brown

for brown

for brown

and cheerful gray.

For the bounce and bound of bunny,

the scurry of squirrel,

sovereigns of my winter yard.

For my snow-capped gazebo

waiting

stolidly,

patiently,

imperturbably

for melt,

waiting for fragrant grass and sun-worshiping flower.

Waiting for

 me.