in the gloaming of a summer’s day,
in the golden hour,
when the sun departs
yet the light remains,
perchance a visitor came by,
a rabbit from a nearby warren
of briars and lilacs and raspberries.
“Out for an evening dine,” i teased,
“and your name, good neighbor,
he stopped and rose up in attentive pose,
ears alert, eyes inspecting, a nose sniffing irrepressibly,
taking stock of this old, bearded man,
who was reading in his chair,
a wooden chair, an Adirondack chair,
handcrafted for just this mellow time,
this reflective, contemplative time,
when wars subside and workers end their day,
the time of day when God does declare,
“And it is good,
yes, in spite of everything, it is good.”
i wonder why this new found friend has no fear of me,
he merely pauses and takes me in,
does he not know what I could do?
and yet, i have no fear of him,
i have only a smiling fascination,
as if charmed by his peaceful visitation.
could it be, he thinks such of me,
this quiet man who sits and rests,
in the quieting of a busy day,
in this time for going home
to share a lawn of growing grass
with a friendly passer-by.