Outside the Door

The soft earth awakens.
Fresh dewdrops cling
To the blades of grass,
To my picnic table,
To the windows of my car.

Outside the Door
The sun has begun
Its ascent above the skyline.
And its rays begin
To splay upon the horizon.

In the beginning,
Where did man lie down his head each night?
Did the morning dew greet him
Each sunrise as he awoke?
Did he sleep under the stars,
In the open air,
Or did he seek shelter most nights?

The earth is soft and lush.
Outside the Door
The heat of the summer
Has already begun to take ahold.

The breeze is my reprieve.
The birds are my companion.
As we share a moment
In the early dawn
Before the sunrays get too bright
And I, too, must take shelter
From the blazing sun.

Outside the Door

I cannot see what lies
Outside the door
When I am safe behind it.

I hear voices
Loud and bold.
Are they broad and jubilant?
Are they escalating to laughter
or to an argument?

A voice raises an octave.
The speed of speech quickens.
I am nervous and unsure.
Do I look and see who is
Outside the door?

I work in a courthouse.
It’s filled with lawyers,
defendants and civilians.
It’s a rotating door of
comings and goings.

The clicking of high heels
Echo down the hall
Until they disappear
Around the corner.

The walls in my office
Are not as thick as
One would think.
Concrete is not a great insulator
Against the reverberant noise.

When all is quiet,
I hear the tick-tock
of the clock
High up on the wall.
It looks down
A bird’s eye view.

In the beginning,
I had the best office
with two huge windows
overlooking College Hill.

Always the sound of cars,
of construction,
of landscapers,
Even voices of those below
Peppered my days.

Now I’ve been moved
to a more active part
of the courthouse.
With a small window
Overlooking the quad.

It is grey no matter the season.
The rays of sun
Hardly get to seep down
Into the square space.

Noise permeates 
outside my door.
It is a good thing.
Quiet days tend to extend into 
A very long work day
And I am counting the hours
Until I can get outside.

I crave solitude.
At times, I crave 
The silence.
The world is not
A quiet place.

The open door

When I walked through the open door
my mind was made up
before the scent of lilacs
and roses greeted me.

They derailed me
woke me out of my inner dialogue
of likes/dislikes, shoulds and have tos.

The inner chatter fell away
like drapes falling off a clothesline.
The gust made them take flight
and swim along the breeze.

Oh, how I wished to drop like the drapes
to embody and become one with it all.
To let go
and truly lose myself
for just a moment.

Naked, exposed
Yet safe to eat the papaya
with my bare hands.
The juice dripping down my arms.
Orange sweet streaks
and I laughed at the imperfection.

So raw, so real,
so present that the daisy and the rose,
the drapes and the breeze
all encompassed me
and I felt true peace.