There is much satisfaction in work well done.
The way I awoke yesterday with a new preface to my book
fully formed from the land of dream
and off it flew on my fingers to the keyboard and on to the screen.
The way I revised two chapters and the writing flowed
like a gurgling stream with ill-placed rocks
and all impediments removed.
The way I rode my bike to the toy store
and ticked off two things at once—
the Christmas present for the grandkids
and my cardio-vascular daily allowance.
The way I sat by the St. Francis statue in the Arboretum,
and the words kept pouring in and I dictated them out
into the Notes of my i-Phone, a new article
for a national magazine.
That night, I learned a new song on the piano and
made progress in the Bach Partita.
Knocked down some e-mail and
filled out the required room request form for a future workshop.
A day of accomplishment
The satisfaction of work well done.
But this morning, I stood out on the deck and watched
the jasmine and ivy waving in the slight breeze,
fully felt the cold air of the approaching winter on my skin,
let the list drop and just stood still.
Listening. Watching. Feeling.
In company with trees and grass and sky
that have nothing else on their list but to just be.
Graced with the remembrance that nothing need be done, nothing need be accomplished—
and then rushed off to publish this poem.