after a morning

of waking up to helicopters buzzing about, reporting a shooting close by - it was nice to have my butt slapped on the way to work by a cute motorcyclist. sometimes when the happening of the world are too much, happenings such as these bring life a bit more joy & laughter. with that, i leave you this poem i was asked to read last night at jazz vespers.

moment vanishing

Now, in the quietude of evening, the dove comes.

It does not flash its feathers, does notmake a sound,

but feeds on what the finches leave behind.

How little it needs.A few hard seeds. A drop of water.

It is late summer. It is always

late summer here. The air is hot and dry.

Brown leaves lie like hands in the yard.

There is no place to turn. No place to stop.

We are hurried along, pushed farther into our lives.

Moments are vanishing all over the earth

as bombs explode, the victim is hooded,

great populations scatter on endless dust roads.

It is too much. We avert our eyes.

We wait like children for the coming of the dove.

And if I were allowed a question,

one question, of the evening dove

who asks for nothing, whose pleasure

is a few small seeds, whose heart I covet,

I would ask, O what will I become?

- Elizabeth Spires

lately i have been wondering this specific question, what will i become. what choices will i make, what words will i speak, what neighborhood will i live in, what love will i make that will become part of the mold that makes up this life i am honored to life. moments are vanishing too quickly & i am in such desperate need of my morning dove.