while the sky moves

the shower of so many walnuts
thumping, thwacking, banging down
onto the metal roofs of the sugar shack, the mill and cool ranch
in the morning winds picking up
announcing another storm (to follow last night’s) rolling in

the rustling of seeds as they land in shallow plastic tub
sprinkle by small sprinkle from each cosmos flower ready to give
while the sky moves from blues to pinks
and shadows travel long into the east


the photos coming in from jeaux
of gibbous the orange red blond cat:
lounging under the small garden cart,
kicking it on the 55 gallon drum,
perched on the woodstack
soft cool wet ground
under bare feet
while rain pounds
where else does one just get to do this
(wake up and walk ‘to work’ [through the woods and through the yard])
in scrappy clothes and bare feet
(an acknowledgement: it is a privilege to have shoes and choose not to wear them)