Nominally evening,
Though bright green leaves outside
show no sign of gloaming,
In a state of pleasant tiredness
in the swing chair, swinging
I reflect that I’m delighting in a harvest.
This is harvest of a dream,
Planted more than twenty years ago
Harvest of a vision for this kind of space and peace,
Proof that things I plant as dear desires
Have their own life
That, absent any tending on my part
They still take root and grow
alongside every other hope
I may or may not notice
And bear their unassuming fruit
Which I may reap
by noting them with gratitude
Which lets me keep
with joy to which each harvest must give rise:
this blessing that now swings before my eyes.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 29, 2013
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