Nest

It feels like one of those Ecclesiastes times.  I do not find this in the list from Ecclesiastes chapter three, exactly, but it seems this is a time not to add things, but to weave everything that is already there together:  into a nest, an open air nest.  This is both appealing and scary.  Usually that*s the way of true things.  Appealing and scary.  That about sums it up.

I wake up and know

I do not need to add one more thing.

Now is the time to weave the pieces

Together.

The orange piece of yarn:

I found it hung on a bush;

The stray piece of twine

From the driveway;

The memory of my friend*s father

Swinging me around

How*s my girl?;

The phone call from the acquaintance

I barely know,

It asks something of me,

I would never come up with

Myself,

Something I never knew

Was needed.

Now is the time of collection.

Now is the time to weave the pieces

Together:

A nest open to the elements,

Sun and wind and rain,

Snow and sleet.

A nest tagged with the orange yarn

From the bush,

Everyone will know

It*s me.

Orange yarn, of course,

Not to mention the twine

From the driveway.

No need to be showy

All the time.