I escaped the deep-throttled, full-throated shriek
of this morning’s lawn service assault: compressors,
edgers & cutting tools, lawn mowers & blowers.
First, a hurried, modest, harried breakfast to abet
my escape: I supped on instant oatmeal, chomped
on a piece of stale bread toast draped with jalapeño
jack cheese, gulped (not sipped) my second cup
of instant coffee. Some assurance, then, of getting
through a few hours away from the empire of noise.
I, who mourn the passing of silence, I who hope
for rest & respite, seek peace & sustenance wherever
these might be found, begin here along this wooded trail.
You, hummingbird, with racing heart, begin here
too: you with the impossibly long, thin curved straw
of beak you don’t use as straw, you with tongue you
use to lap up nectar. You flit from shrub to shrub
down this trail ahead of me, so tiny, so full of heart
and the art of hum & dart, shimmer & pause. A blur
of wings, a hum & click down the trail. I trail behind,
rapt, pausing with your pauses to watch you & marvel,
you sussing out sustenance, seeking blossoms. I am
transfixed, utterly revealed to you. You shimmer
& hum & then you’re gone. I’ve lost you but not my
wonder. This last day of April I fear it’s too early
for blossoms here, along this trail’s wooded borders,
hope it’s not too early for peace & other sustenance.
Andrew Shattuck McBride
NaPoWriMo ~ 2013 | My Day 18
April 30, 2013