Despite all the nonsense of now
I still have joy.Despair, anger, wanting to hide-yes.
But here I am, with joy.
A hawk is loudly hunting his breakfast
nuthatches hop down the damp fissure
on the shady side of the the maple trunk
just outside the window.
Bright morning winter sun travels
past blue sky and bare tree limbs
lands on aloe, cacti,
geraniums, the unfinished wildflower puzzle.
The keyboard where Bach Invention No. 1
is open and waiting
for my fingers to practice seven sixteenth notes
four eighths, right hand, left hand, again and again.
Gentle dog snores from nestled balls of black fur
the clacking of keys, furrowed brow, hand stroking beard- how lucky I am that my husband is working from home, saying, “you can have the last cup”
of coffee in the french press.
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