Sit still.
Find a log in the woods,
a sun-warmed rock in a field. 

Don’t hurry.
Let your eye rest on that small
part of the world before you. 

Let it fill you,
sink into the blank page
like ink from a fine pen. 

Even cold concrete
porch steps and a scrap
of a city front lawn will do. 

My eyes delight
in dandelions, miniature suns
whose warmth summons bees. 

My mind gathers
violets. Each sweet face gazes
at me with my mother’s smile.