The birds and the deer flit and glide
through the picture window of my morning.
As the steam rises from the cup,
and the songs of praise resound in my ears,
the cardinals and wrens race from tree to feeder
offering their own songs of praise
for the glory of the morning.
The deer, calm and serene,
graze along the stream in the bottom land
seemingly oblivious to anything other than breakfast,
but always alert for the dangers that surround them.
As I sit at the table
taking in the picture in front of me
which is both simple and complex at the same time,
I remember my friends at home
who aren’t ruminating over a hot cup of coffee,
who may not have any power at all,
and whose picture window
has broken trees, broken homes, and broken lives,
and the danger they face is now
a different type of predator,
ones with Land Rovers and large checkbooks
with a vision of a neighborhood that doesn’t include
the ones who already live there.
I mourn with my friends
and I wish they could be with me here,
watching the birds,
and cheering the deer.