Impeded stream

This feels to be a time of waiting and noticing.  In addition to seeing all I have not done (in the backyard and elsewhere), I also see the lone rose and the catbird.  I almost hear the singing.

The impeded stream is the one that sings.

                                                Wendell Berry, in The Real Work

As everyone else seems to do

End of summer things,

Last minute vacations,

I stare at the back yard.

It has gotten little attention from me

In the heat.

The fountain planter

Is filled with weeds.

They grow at the feet

Of the boy and girl.

They hold an umbrella

Between them.

The weeds are almost attractive

In their unplantedness

They grow at the feet

Of the young couple.

The hose lies

Anything but neat

On the cement patio.

One small magenta rose

Hides in the overgrown scraggle

Of what is still

A rose bush.

The drainage ditch beyond the back yard

Barely flows.

Sometimes it masquerades

As a creek

A stream.

It has many disguises.

Still

There is enough water there

For one lone catbird to find it

And delight.

In quiet times

Like today

I almost hear the singing.