I Wake Slowly

I wake slowly into my old age,

into my room full of books and morning tea,

into my yard full of horses and dogs 

and trees and blue sky.

My door stays open to birdsong

and the cooling  breezes of autumn.

Dogs wander in and out, with loving eyes 

and lolling tongues.

I breathe in this morning 

of my inevitable evening,

grateful before nightfall for the many gifts

of being alive on the planet.

I relish fall as if it is my last,

aware that winter's icy blasts 

will surely follow,

that snow and ice will cover

the summer garden.

Outside, busy, hurried life swoops by.

Inside, the silence is thick and syrupy,

dripping into my psyche

like a single drop

into a pool that ripples outwards

towards the sea that is you,

on the other side of this screen.

I travel nowhere, yet visit the world

by tapping the magic keys of my kingdom.

Each day is a gift, whose slow pace I relish.

I only want more and more

of these long, slow,

sweetly meandering  days.

Boredom is never an issue.

for Sumana's prompt at Midweek Motif: Boredom