Here in the city’s hub and hum
I sit in the late September sun.
They’ve drained the pond.
Behind me, 
over the bullpit,
the office workers eat their lunch.
Seagulls, pigeons, sparrows
share our endeavor:
survival…
of the fittest,
of the squirrels,
of the grass, 
of peace 
of mind.
The stillness is neutral.
And relative.
A foreign beauty in jeans
frowns
and feeds the birds.
Her beau hurls popcorn at the gulls.
Pigeons ring their feet.
They laugh.
The world is inconsequential.
For this trivia
Jehovah laboured all those days
to fashion this mundane Monday park
in praise of length
of length of days,
a Grand Canyon of time,
of emptiness,
of fullness,
of squirrels looping from tree to tree.
I’m going back to my Monday chores
thankful for this Niagara,
this ocean in the city’s hum and hub.
Grateful to all who share it.






  
 
    
 
      
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