Early this morning
downstairs in the kitchen
new sunlight is beaming
on fresh painted isle
it spills to the floor
like water, light streaming
on warm 'Sandy Beaches'
mom's favorite tile.
  
and out through her windows
it pours in the front yard
kissing green lawn
which is littered with leaves
wet brown and orange
red, golden yellow
while shadows are present still under the eaves

coffee steam rising
it wafts up the staircase
and into the room where I'm barely asleep
awaken my senses
and draw me to sitting
when off of the mattress I suddenly leap

Today is a brisk one
my window cracked open
cause breathing cool air to me always feels best
I play with the thermostat
keep myself cozy
I'm layered on thickly, topped off with a vest

So I sit here writing, while tile guy cutting
the ones he will place near the door to our home
upon which will stand all our autumnal guests who are shopping for houses
not reading this poem.

I've turned up the music, Bon Iver,  
with coffee to  comfort the artisan working his trade
along with his help who'd complained of a headache
his sinuses cleared with medicinal aid.
  
And letting the morning lapse into the noonday
while dew's burning off, we'll be singing a song
blue sky or cloudy, misty or raining
it's daytime, we're doing and rolling along.

And as I tap lightly, I am seriously sinking
in work I must finish to ready this place
today I am painting a bedroom and thinking
how lovely it is to create, to erase

all of the bumps and the holes from our living
I'll spackle and sand to a smooth starting clean
so nice that old wallboard can be so forgiving
and I prefer flat paint without any sheen.
  
the sun's setting quickly
but night-time comes slowly
as it is common to dusk on the land
revealing the stars I can see further out
and enjoying the evening, with nothing else planned.

I trudge to the place where
my day always ends
and isn't that something, just as it begins
I pull back the covers and
punch up the pillow
and ask Love's forgiveness for all of my sins.

Nobody tells us to keep our lives simple
a choice that we make to be glad less the gold
for the things that are free less the stuff that we carry
a pleasure to have which will never grow old.