Water Work

I like it with perfect warmth, maybe sunny, maybe rainy but not so hot you are uncomfortable and not so cold your muscles freeze up.

I like water, rain works, or a river rustling, or waves crashing, or the trickle from a pool, or drip on a drum, water noise soothes the mind, relaxes the body, washes clear pain.

Butterflies float, drift down to honeysuckle, rise and fall like a balloon, from burning bush to beauty bush to milkweed. Because of course there are flowers, red hibiscus with their long stamens, pink camellia perfectly shaped, rose shapechangers from bud to petal fall,

drips of jasmine, cups of skyflower, stalks of sage in many colors. Flowers dangle, drape the brain, cover the body, adore the sky.

Visitors drop in to the seedbox, meow of catbird, twit twit of chipping cardinal who burst into song, the whisper of titmice,

the buzz-choo choo of the Carolina wren. We say hello, see sky,

find flower, find clouds, stars, moons, the dripping down sky.

A table is needed, perfect height so your feet fit on the floor without a cramp. A chair soft enough but not too soft, good back support. A pen that bleeds as you write, sliding over page with ease, turning off now and then. Blank page. Space wide enough to spread out. Room for a walkabout. Bathroom nearby.

Silence full of song. Oh yeah, my heartbeat. Ha ha.