Now morning is cool as I shelter
on the porch under my blanket
watching, writing.
Din of distant traffic,
a single leaf drops down
spiraling, unheralded, quiet;
now my daughter texts saying
they’re in a nearby town being tested
for Covid standing on an X
like in a bad movie she says–
sirens wail.  I hope not
a preview of my life.
Now I’m noticing a scratch
on my finger with no memory
where it came from, a thin
white scar in the making.
A squirrel panics,
on alert as a hawk
lands on a high branch–
more sirens scream,
then fade away
now just a flicker, the shadow
of movement on a limb
high above.