I scan the morning’s headlines over coffee.
It’s the usual nightmare of conflict, corruption and crime.
And as if I’d swallowed a cup of cement, it pushes
me down to the floor, burying my hope in its weight.
But I notice that the sun is shining, and pull myself
out the door. My eyes see the clear sky, the light
filtering through the summer leaves. But my heart
is still heavy with grief. Go to the park, a voice
tells me. Take a walk, clear your head. So I go.
After a while, I wander toward the garden.
And there it is, perched atop an Echinacea,
A tiny creature, looking like a winged horse,
its face painted like a circus pony, sipping
nectar. Are you real? I ask, amazed.
But there is no doubting it. Or the song
that my heart begins to sing. Here,
in this now, is Yes, is beauty. Here,
in this now, reality expands, full of joy
and waking. And everything else is but dream.