this morning
I sit on the porch
there’s a woman painting
she is sitting on the sidewalk, easel set, brush in hand
under the shade of a large tree and I’m curious
how long will she stay
     until her work is complete
     or it becomes hot beyond comfort?

this morning
it’s truly summer, says the calendar
a church bell tolls, as is the norm downtown
eleven dongs, although I didn’t take time to count
people walk, sometimes with leashed dogs
I consider why they’re on this particular street
     headed downtown with a purpose
     or the opposite, perhaps home?

this morning
a dad and son with luggage await their driver
the woman paints while they think of their next stop
the dad takes a photo, the building in which I dwell
people often look at it in awe, I’ve noticed
curious as to what it is or once was
     I think about a photo I discovered
     posed, so long ago.

this morning
I avoid the annoying questions
which in reality are actually facts
I’m focusing on what I love
while dealing with a pervasive sense of panic
I must figure out a way
     unless I’m handed a victory
     doubtful though, as I’ve no recollection of a fight!

this morning
a man and woman stop to watch the artist paint
     soon they walk on
     at some point I will too…