There is nothing outside my window
except
distance and fields
on
days when my mind is inclined to wander.
Closer
to home, there is my yard
and
a cottonwood tree and white picket fence
with
a gate that is never locked.
And,
oh by the way, there is a woman,
a stranger who shows up daily
to weed or plant daisies and marigolds
before
she wipes a hand on her apron
and
walks away to I know not where
when
the light starts to fade.
She
is a mystery, a pleasant one
I
will not try to solve
now,
or in all probability, ever.
She
might never return.
Welcome,
earth-bound stranger,
woman
of the garden and the day.
Stay,
for you are beautiful
in
your quietness and the lines of your face,
and
I like it that way.
~William Hammett
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