Today I stopped working for fifteen minutes to sit on a bench I’ve carried from Venice California to Santa Fe to Albuquerque and listen to the birds nesting all around me like opinionated men. I’m sure some of them are birdsplaining to other birds and some harpies are nagging back. Building stuff is hard.
We're all out here together listening to spring silently unfold from the trees. Next month I’ll read a book out here. Then the birds can see I know a thing or two.
My neighbor is up on his roof ripping up shingles. I’m hoping he can hear the spring blooming too. It’s a gift to be outside.
Prompt: Write a poem of gifts, to yourself and someone else.