Weaving my Days {a #poem}
If I was inside
not here–away–
I’d miss the rickety sounding
chip, chip, chip
of the cautious squirrel
feasting on my deck.
I’d be still and safe
and sure of my surroundings
but could never feel
this lacy, lingering, gentle breeze
lilting along the leaves of the trees.
My eyes would rest on the all too familiar
white walls and picture frames
instead of viewing
the silvery gossamered, billowy
waves of the web
from this everyday spider,
a dot in the middle of
his wavy-walled home
clinging, sure of his boundaries,
never doubting for a moment
he’s exactly
where
he
should
be.
