Spring sun and breeze,
porch sitting at ease reflecting,
hip deep in tranquility, smiling
living well one breath at a time.
Possessing way more than enough.

Oh, what I miss most
is the closeness and
touch of a human hand.
A simple thing, one we
normally take for granted,
like my grandchildren's arms
around my neck. Handshakes
or hugs in greetings or farewells
with friends, all taken for granted
for years, lost to us for now,
but will eventually return.

The early morning scent was of newly
damp earth, fresh rain on cedar trees,
Drink it in old mother Earth, dress
yourself in multi shades of new green.
All life here lives within the benevolence
of your grace, at your pleasure.
Let us be good and worthy tenants,
able stewards deserving of your
gracious bounty of life's earthly gifts.

It's my go to place,
has been for years,
The Wildwood Café,
serving only breakfast
and lunch closes at 2:00,
an eclectic tiny place
with a mix of old dinette
tables and mismatched chairs,
the cutlery also unmatched
and well used, some even a
little bent but no one cares
it's part of the unassuming
charm of the place. Old photos
and signs adorn the walls
and there is usually a line
of people waiting patiently
on benches outside.

Best of all there is this pleasant
girl, always wearing a welcoming
smile, who seems to know us all.
She knows my order by heart,
Ham and eggs over medium,
a half ration of potatoes, home baked
slice of bread, well toasted, well buttered,
home made salsa on the side, a cup of
"hot" Black English Tea. Tall water no ice.

If I arrive between the busy times, she may
sit for a spell at my table, we talk a while,
not a big thing, just chitchat, I'm old enough
to be her grandfather, it's the dessert before
my meal served with genuine friendliness
and unforced civility, not often encountered
in these strange days and times, a slice of
small town Americana at it's best,
she and folks like her help sustain my belief
that basic human decency is far from dead.

The food always good, but it's the
comforting embrace of familiarity and
simple kindness that assures my
frequent return.

It happened again today,
as it does too often.
A super sized new roll of
toilet paper unwound off
it's holder in a heap upon
the floor.

She followed me into the
bathroom and sat slyly
staring gauging my reaction.
I thought I could actually
discern a slight smile upon
her enchanting face.

What is it about cats that
makes them do that,
unroll all the Toilet Paper?
Are they merely mischievous
or inherently evil? I am in a
quandary to know the difference.

The dog firmly placed his chin upon the old
man's knee, stirring him from sleep in his chair.
The only light in the room coming from the
television screen. The dog's gentle message
being, "Time we go to bed" dear friend.
A ritual event occurring more often now
and most likely tomorrow night again.

As the man slowly stood the dog pranced towards
the door, to go outside and do his required business.
The man also to the bathroom did retire, brushing of
teeth and to attend to his own urgent business.

Six years of twenty four seven companionship had
bonded them forever, each knowing the other as
only best friends or family can, both fully habituated
to the other's needs and routines.

The dog sat upon his own bed, close by to the man's
bed,  patiently waiting as he always did. The man leaned
down and took the dog's face and head into his hands,
forehead to forehead they paused while silent endearing
messages were, like every night, conveyed and mutually
affectionately received. Love as real as any.

The man climbed aboard his own bed, donning his CPAP
mask like a pilot before take off and arranged himself
in his fully-automatic-adjustable bed, then clapped his
hands twice to extinguish the lamp on the bedside table.

"Good night buddy, we'll have some more fun in the
morning." the man murmured, closing his eyes to sleep.

Another day ended as most now do, as will, all their
remaining shared tomorrow's.

The whole world has PTSD,
brought about by watching
far too much TV.
Normal people becoming
neurotic or psychotic
by all the "Breaking  News".

Talking heads spewing fearful
endless chapters of dread,
all with their own ax to grind
into our heads, day after day
after day until we want to scream.
Real news or fake, impossible
to know the difference.

A political landscape strewn with
landmines of division and hate.
Melting Ice, and adverse weather,
hurricanes and tornadoes devastate
and forest fires burn, as racists and
terrorists abound at every turn,
and crazy's with military weapons
killing us for sport, just to make
the nightly news, as our nation's
infrastructures crumble into ruins,
all "Breaking News day and night",
while we and the world choke and
quiver from an excessive Carb diet
of information overload, trying to
sleep bathed in bad dreams, laced
with too many strong doses of PTSD.