It’s Monday morning, just past the half
after ten, a light breeze and sun shifting through the summer leaves.
He’s reading.
Inside the house his daughter sleeps, she
won’t rise before noon.
No one else is home or expected, the cats
sleep in the shade.
The book he is reading is an old one, one
that he read once before, thirty years ago.
He is amazed how good it still is and how
little he remembers.
Yesterday evening the book, which he had
turned to as an old friend, surprised him.
It must have surprised him thirty years
ago.
There are 13 pages left, no one can disturb
him and he will finish it before the sun reaches the zenith.
Then he will ride or run through the
forest, maybe swim.
But this is what he will carry with him all
through the day.
And it will nourish his night when he
dreams.
“Well I remember this girl. I am not whole
without her…..”
No comments:
Post a Comment