Part II of a Trilogy

Why I Love My Tuesday Mornings: Part II

Besieged by December Rain,
I barrel in, a tornado of unplanned – but predictable – lateness,
And am given space to

breathe. 

Raspy alto sax quells my chaos.
My lungs inhale the voices of little creatives,
whose proclivity for poetry is  
complete with ocean freckles. 

A choir of wandering chickens sing lullabies;
on a whim we become astro-seismologists together
harken to astral hymns.

How glad I am to be just right here.

Bedlam stills,
and I breathe again
                  this glorious, rainy, Tuesday morning.

 I am right where I need to be,
reveling in the power of stardust,
                  of hope,
                  of days yet to be, and
of giggling foxes.