Only Speculating

 

As you look east at the break of dawn,

the daylight cresting out on the ridge,

night no longer holding sway– and you 

pour yourself a cup to shake the dreamless

night away, chuckling as a squirrel chases 

a flock of birds to flight.  Or perhaps a bit later on

in the day, as the sky fills with clouds, and a pall 

sets in, and you escape to a your place of fantasy 

where the words take flight like birds to the trees... 

Do your thoughts ever wander? Do you think of me?

 

I look to the east to the rising sun­‑coffee in hand,

work to be done. The birdsong begins by 5 a.m.

so much happier than I am at that hour.  And the days

blend the same, filled with small exchanges, and 

I count the minutes until they’re through; and now and 

again, I think of you.  And I look to the west as the 

sun sinks low, brushed in pink and purple watercolors,

and I wonder to myself, “Do you see it, too?”

Each one of us a marker in our own time and space, with the

baggage of our years in between, as we pen our words 

and dream our dreams.  Life, it seems, is in the waiting; in

speculating what could be. There is no risk in our seclusion,

only bleak reality.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023