These past few early mornings
bereft of birdsong since the
squirrel knocked the feeder down.
 
Sounds carry here
echoing within themselves
across the wide stretch of open
flats of the bay
and even amongst our scrub-pine
wooded lots sparsely settled
 
so the clunking of a ladder
an acre away seems near,
opening and closing
perhaps being moved from place
to place:
 
a home being painted?
the pruning of high tree branches
around an old black oak?
surely not a series of cats stuck
in trees although May Eldredge
up the road called the firemen
three times for that.
 
Out of sight
I imagine the worker
lost in his own thoughts
as the sun, rising to fuller
late-summer strength, warms
his back
grateful for another day
of good beginnings and glad
to be of use.


© by Carol Amato.
Used here with the author’s permission.