At my best

The glow of the sun
As it comes round the hill
The scent of the air
Clean and fresh
Picking through alluvium
For colored tumbled glass
Sawing boards, making boxes
Birdhouses. Steely blue
Heron standing by the river.
Watching the nieces
Run along the lawn.
The smell of her soup
Wafting up the stair.
The light in her eyes
When I’m at my best…


8 thoughts on “At my best

  1. Love it! Splendiferous title. Awesome cadence. Bright, happy words, wonderfully rendered. But what I like best about this piece is the great attitude, peeking out through the lines … an appreciation for the simple good things, presence at the time of this writing. If more people walked this earth with a poem like this in their hearts ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


  2. I love the lightness of this poem, Eric, and the simple, natural imagery that appeals to the senses: the colored tumbled glass, the way the words ‘sawing boards’ evoke the smell of sawdust, and the smell of soap.


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