It has been a day of doing small things.
Laundry. Wipe the counters. Planting bulbs for spring.
uncluttering desks and planked tabletops.
Small things, efforts unnoticed
by those who might drop by for a cup of coffee
but for you, they bring a new order,
a calmness and peace
that goes beyond the warm patina of wood,
or the fresh scent of apricots.
You do not hurry,
enjoying the light that rays through the gingham curtains,
and the dust fairies that dance in the sun,
and the sound of the fall winds
blowing off the mountain.
And when you are done,
there is quiet, save for the sound of the mantle clock,
chiming the hours, ticking the seconds.
It has been a good day, this day of work,
of small things, creating the gentle beauty
I actually did spend a few hours cleaning this afternoon. Not very exciting, but I enjoyed it and wanted somehow to capture that enjoyment. This poem is what came of it. The picture is from a reconstructed 19th century house in Mystic, CT, You can click on it for a larger view.