I feel it when I walk out the door to pick some basil
vibrant, green, blown about by the wind
carrying the smell of rain. The rain.
In the South dense, sulfur blue clouds
In the Northeast a sparkling sun and cyan.
And as the wind blows
my old dog is dying
no longer taking food
and the vet I respect advises we plan
for his comfort
as she passes me the Kleenix box.
But life calls.
The rain quenching the brittle soil.
The worms rising to feed the robin's hungry hatchlings.
And my youngest Springer readies
just shy of delivering seven pups
with tiny hearts beating
in the ultrasound
under the vet's probe.
It was only a week or so ago
when my former love of twenty years
who no longer
speaks to me
had a massive
seven bypasses worth coronary.
And our daughter
disregarded his instructions.
Much like the storm moving onward
she worriedly nurses back his health
and the puppies turn ready to greet us.