I don't like calendars. 

The constant march of weeks and months,

tracking them methodically as we go.

Fewer days for us to live. 

 

This morning, I awake

and brush these thoughts aside.

The light through the drapes makes no promises,

 

but beckons me to rise

and welcome the tiny Pacific Wrens

often seen through our window.

 

I check the orange tree through the glass

to see if some have ripened enough

for our morning table.

 

The crescendo of little wonders

just within my view begins again.

This was the promise after all.