Archive
06/12/10
Presence
I, the sum of my anonymity, Come into the Missouri Botanical Garden, Under a ninety-five-degree Saturday-afternoon sun.
As usual, I assume my space on a wooden bench Whose slats, mottled with moss and lichen, Invite my solitary shape to accommodate to nature.
A mist-gentle rain slips, invisibly, through the leaves Of a sawtooth-oak-tree canopy Shading me, temporarily,
As I leisurely eat my hummus-and-crispbread lunch. Decidedly, I'm in no discernable hurry; Time and I have nowhere else to go, to be,
Even if the billowy gray-white clouds do seem rushed. And now, my legs ask if they can lead the way; They must know something I don't.
Over the labyrinthine steppingstone path, we go, Following the riffling stream, to its mouth, Then down into the Japanese Garden,
Where a bride, in white, and her gray-suited groom Are about to become wife and husband, one from two, When they repeat their own "whither thou goest, I will go."
My soul pauses, to commend them to serenity of spirit. Because of the deep, unremitting heat, Few people are circling the four-and-a-half-acre lake. I've never sensed such sweet seclusion, here, Or believed that the sum of my anonymity Could be such a serenely ubiquitous presence.
06/12/10
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