WANDERLUST
As I gaze out my patio window looking for inspiration,
I hear my computer make that growling sound
reminding me it’s my job to tap on the keys and make something appear under “Daily Poems.”
The spotted towhee, staring back at me,
flashes its spots and the mourning dove
coos its sad aria, pleading for someone
to write the entire opera of its life.
I think of the whooping crane——
my favorite bird——and hope the entire flock
has arrived safely to their winter home on the Texas coast.
I should probably go there and see for myself,
but I stay glued to my place by the door.
I turn my attention to the red buds’
naked limbs waiting for spring,
and the Douglas Fir budding with tiny cones.
Cottony clouds roll across the blue sky in a
hurry to get to another place, and I’m thinking that
the wanderlust around me is too contagious and
that maybe I should traipse into the woods behind
my home to see if the banana slugs are sliming
the trail with their silvery mucus. But when
my husband and tells me the bird feeders are empty,
I know immediately I have a purpose on this glorious morning.