You’ll Learn to Love the Lawn Gnome

We can pick waxy leaves off the holly bush, toss them in the rain puddle at the edge of the driveway, sail our tiny canoes all the way to the mailbox. Let’s read Basho to the thistle and the red chokeberries. Tomorrow a sheriff will knock on our front door, a court order trembling in his donut-shaped hands, a locksmith with a nervous cigarette in his lips at his side. Until then, we can crawl in bed with the cat, lie under an open window, and listen to the traffic rumble down the road, listen to the gossip of birds.

Photo credit: Bridger Hart