Walking the Dog on Sabbath Morning

I thanked our neighbor Debbie
for carefully placing the Sacramento Bee and Enterprise Record
on our doorstep—she is an early riser and likes doing it.
She was planting flowers next to her front door.

I paused to listen to the cries
of the Red Shouldered Hawk twins
on top of the Maple tree
in our neighbor’s back yard.

A long narrow puddle on the road
reflected the bright blue sky.

I wondered how Muggins, our Boston Terrier,
could wind himself around a holly bush
and remain unstuck.

I noticed a tiny spider
flying an impossibly long strand of web.
when she drifted out of the shadows of the trees.

Rene, a frail, eighty-one-year-old cancer survivor,
was putting out pots of red geraniums
next to her garage.
She said she was late getting them out.
I told her I had missed them.
I said they were beautiful
and at the same time thought
that her tremulous smile
was far lovelier.

Even though the sunlight had penetrated my bones
and made me smile,
I was happy to get home,
to walk though my front door one more time
to Claudia
and banana toast with blueberries
and strawberries and walnuts.

ah
7/22/09