Days of Grace

How many days has grace
held us tenderly, entirely,
from brightening dawn
through dimming dusk?
And this day, so newly
scrubbed and sparkling,
raindropped and
scented with showered green
gardens, anointing us with summer
smells of basil dill lovage ripening
tomatoes squash blossoms sun-
baked earth our sweat
and of course dog hair.

Here, in our
sane asylum, safe from
the madness too much
of the world has
chosen we still
choose love and
harvest joy.

It will
not always be so;
we, in our
autumn, and the world
in its winter…I imagine
this land in years
to come and note
our absence, a negative space
we formerly filled, though
I’m certain
our spirits will linger
whispering our
gratitude for days,
so many days of grace.

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And, earlier this week:
I asked Fergus if he wanted to play for a while.
“As if, Mom. Gotta get back to the office. Zoom meeting at 3.”
Me:
Fergus: “Later.”