The piano tuner, Mary, called this morning
asking, "Can we cancel our 9 o'clock
appointment?"  Rain - the kind that keeps
Onyx hiding in the bath tub all night,
and me, with my window open
                 in winding, singing dreams,
singing - weeding my garden in rain
with friends, singing - writing songs,
tapping toes in my sleep.  I wake often to
rhythmic toes.

The traffic report estimated the
piano tuner late by two hours.
All people in cars on Highway 694,
and, even, side streets snailed along, later
and later for work.
                  I was practicing sensing
the glorious heightened moment:
rain sprinkling like a soft wind chime,
morning doves and red winged blackbird
calls, far rolling thunder, cooling breezes
welcome in my house.  An occasional car
splashed on the road.  I noticed my adolescent
tulip-tree daughter, growing tall and brilliant green.
She is Orion's age, although quieter.
                  Both are beautiful.
Earlier this morning Orion ran out, in a rain
of wild flying horses, to catch the school bus
calling back, "I love you, Mom!"

I told Mary not to worry.
We easily step in the hurry, worry line.
A third of my life I've stood-still there.
                  No more.
                  I wished I could hand
her a cup of hot tea and a blueberry smoothie
through the telephone.  (May be that will be possible
one day!)  We set another appointment for
tomorrow at 9 o'clock.  I hope traffic
will be legato and allegro then.