How I Remember to Breathe on any Average Tuesday (after listening to the news)

Music, like water, flowing across hot,
swollen, worries.

A single pale pink Astilbe blossom
in an antique bottle.

Leaf shadow dappling fingers and keyboard,
my focus breaking into
one hundred light and shadow
pieces of delight.

A long drink of cool water.

Walking to the end of the sidewalk
at the end of the day and suddenly
swimming in the scent of extravagantly
blooming honeysuckle vine.

Thinking about the mystery of
cuttlefish and fireflies.

Wren song sung
from the swaying basket of
purple and yellow petunias.

Coffee with exultant amounts of cream.

An orange and white cat remembering
his wild roots, hidden in dappled
shadows among blue-flowered Spiderwort.

The honey and sunlight scent
of fresh Lemon Balm leaves.

A frothy peony blossom
just dropping its first petal.

The warmth of my hand resting over my heart.

Tracie Nichols writes poetry and facilitates group writing experiences from under the wide reach of two old Sycamore trees in southeastern Pennsylvania. She is the co-founder of the Embodied Writers writing group and a Transformative Language Artist helping women write themselves home. You can find Tracie on her website.

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