Thoughts on a morning in March, Tokyo 2001. One of those times of sitting at a window looking down to the garden below, sights and sounds filtered through wavy glass and a leaky old fountain pen.
In the breeze a blue-striped towel
snaps and curls on the line.
White magnolia faces
drift to an already milky garden path
and spring continues to smile.
Over a wall a drill
sends shudders through the air
A whiny buzzing grind,
biting at old plaster
and the orange cat squalls a complaint.
Light from a cloudless sky
glosses the planes of roof and street.
A pane of half clear glass,
the third-story lens revealing an ordinary day
And spring smiles happy birthday