Going On

This morning, the first thing I noticed on going outside was the sound of woodpeckers drumming. Now, the lawns down the block are deep green plush, and the trees above them gleam with the sun's last light. I keep listening for the woodpeckers, but they are silent. So is the distant jet that is passing, leaving a white trail that sunset will soon turn pink. The whole world has fallen into lassitude, or maybe it's just me.

If the woodpeckers would come back things would liven up. Night is about to creep from under the trees, and then an even deeper quiet will fall. I could drum my fingers but it wouldn't be the same. It's the rapid echo of beaks on wood that pleases me— the vastness of the forest it evokes. Nothing I can do will do.


( Sunday Verse )