Sitting in the
kitchen, I look out the window
at the green meadow, the tree line, the
mountain range beyond.
The scene is painted freshly each morning
with a new color palette
by an impressionist who has a vested
interest in the landscape.
The clock in the downstairs hall chimes,
a call to prayer as I sip morning coffee,
added inspiration lest my brain show up late.
In the poplar, two birds debate
philosophy,
St. Thomas versus Hawking, the wind of
their debate
flapping leaves like Buddhist prayer
flags.
The rising sun changes angles of light by
degrees,
and I am bathed in a yellow beam
for a minute or two, or perhaps eternity.
It is good to be here, transfigured for a
sacred moment in time.
Did I mention that it was good to be here?
~William Hammett
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