When I sit quietly and softly in my chair
on the patio garden, beside the sage,
when I allow my soul time to pause,
to step aside from the noise and the sparkle,
when I sit still and silent with my breath with closed eyes
and feel the breeze blow so gently across my skin,
sometimes a finch will light on the dangling feeder
and chirp with joy as it picks through the seed.
Sometimes there are several finches, chattering,
and the cardinal pair whose eyes follow each other.
If I move suddenly and grab hold of
the thing that has crept back into my mind,
the finches will fly and light in the nearby tree,
watching and waiting for the stillness to settle back in
If I allow myself the time and space to sit with my breath
perhaps they will return again.