Just In Time

To watch the sun settle into faraway branches. How gentle, those trees, holding their old mother like the baby they never knew. Beside them, the winding necktie of water, a flow around rocks, a singing wind chime. The blue-hearted creek knows its shores, even in the dry gulch of summer, even in the glut of spring rain when fish flop wildly. To notice how quiet it all is now, birds and frogs and love that has died and yes, even the war, so distant and forgetful. A feather traces a fitful pattern and makes landfall.