Saturday Morning with My Poets

It's Saturday morning...dreary...a drab sky...cypress trees are lazy...and the pigment in the grass is dying...cinnamon and cider and terra-cotta blades are haphazardly woven together, with patches of basil brushed in. A storm is clamoring off the coast of New Orleans; a vaporous mist is whirling about in Atlanta. I’m reading Kipling, Corso, Cummings, Keats, Longfellow, Baldwin, and Sandburg … with a coffee. The winds are picking up...the arms of the cypresses are fitfully lollygagging while a cardinal's orange beak picks up seeds. A squirrel's white belly is exposed as he feeds himself on his hind legs. Mother Nature is whispering.