The finches hop about like electrons in the old apple tree.
Lovely Cat waits in some delicious eternity for a morsel of my toast.
Busy ants, alas, are herding aphids on the roses,
and Paddy dreams in bed travelling somewhere I can never follow.
Blooming with memories and parties from other years,
the house next door holds an old woman and tells her
"Whether you live or die, old Lady, choose Life."
Neighbors in grizzled clapboard homes are moving into their day
wondering about love or politics or peanut butter sandwiches.
This God-in-action fills every micron of existence.
It is a flicker of movement, a non-thought
in the profundity of always
where Lovely Cat stretches and licks her paws
in the sweet comfort of the early morning sun.
— Elizabeth Gipsc
