Quieting

Fog

Rests silently

Here to the sea

A pocket

Of shore breaks

Through.

.

Life

.

Awakened

.

In small waves

Sometimes

There is Ease

Taking it in

As scale changes

Back to small

And known.

.

Kitten

Kneading,

Purring

Next to Mary Oliver,

I would too.

Clock

Ticks,

Tocks.

Tick-tocks.

Little feet shuffle,

Door knob jerks,

“Mama?”

.

Roused

.

The quieting

Once in hand

Hastens,

Hiding herself

Farther away

Perhaps

Between veils of

Madrone and fir trees

Or the loft of

A Flicker’s wings

.

On the day goes

As the sound

Continues

To grow,

flow.

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