I am writing these words in an empty notebook
On a warm, humid, mid-summer morning,
Masked by the speckled shade of my tree's canopy.

My dog stands beside me
His paws among the crisp grass
Covered by dew and red fallen petals.

From across the lake in front of me,
there are birds sending eloquent songs
On a journey across the placid waters;

Above me is a juvenile blue-jay,
Still without its royal blue crest,
which has made this its home.

This beautiful scene I am immersed in,
Gorgeous like a painting still drying,
Its wet paint glistening,
Has become my home.