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A Human Hankering
The calendar counts the weeks and months of COVID.
Yet, every pensive daybreak I am granted that for which I never asked.
Of course, suffering sickness and death tolls are endlessly morbid.
Still, my morning strolls find dazzling nooks where wonder is unmasked.
Plentiful pansies splash passion rainbows over meadowlands unrequited.
Common Windmill palm trees display fan palms like broad hands.
Neighborhood lawns spawn hankerings for cornucopias delighted.
Each new day contains unique complexions, signature ambient wavebands.
I am an animal of textures, but the relentless pandemic compels tactile chill.
By what right am I awarded these winsome private moments on each stroll?
Rain drums on the roof like an invocation, and I touch the palpable thrill.
Nature’s rhythms are carried on wings of monarchs and in the birth of a tadpole.
At last, I am not alone but connected to rugged bluffs and smooth beaches.
Finally, I realize without these endowments, existence would be impossible.
I am meant to discover all the simple prodigious self-ordering reaches.
In understanding them, I see no beginning or end, only that I am tangible.
Copyright ©
Thomas Wells
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