TRANQUILITY
I’m sitting on my old dock
on Salter’s pond in Maine
waiting for when the bass
begin to bite and my pole
starts to wriggle as if it was
doing a Saint Vitus Dance.
Chickadees begin to sing,
waking up the bullfrogs
along the shore who join
in on top of moss-covered
stones as if it was New Years
Eve galumphing pure joy.
Clouds of no-see-ums on
the move confront clusters
of stately cattails who bow
in meek surrender as sunrise
appears through locust trees.
Time has stopped. I love now.