The crisp, cool morning air blankets my thoughts without a care.
I listen to squirrels dancing from branch to branch
With angelic balance and sweet, clumsy grace.
I hear a train in the distance, sounds of nearby traffic and early conversations
Between little birds in the trees, but not a glimpse of your face.
With gentle whispers of the creek below, and a brand new kitty
Whose name is Snow, I’m fluttered with distractions between the sounds I hear and
A brave, little feline who shows no fear.
I admire the lush, assorted, summer-shades of green, from trees and plants and the flowers I’ve seen, but all of this can not compare,
to when you are home, when you are here.
Christine J. Logan