I wrote the first poem and thought it was too long for a "small stone". But the second attempt is not very joyful, which supposed to be the theme of my small stones this month, but instead slightly sinister! So I'm posting both.
Late Afternoon On My Top Step
Late afternoon on my top step
I settle with coffee and iPad
beside the potted plants.
My black cat runs up the stairwell
from some private vantage-point
down in the garden, to join me.
His footwork is light, he is
lithe and quick — not like
the old guy he is. Now he peers
underneath the railings
at my geranium bushes
half flattened by last week's wind
before stretching out on the concrete
to hear and ignore all those birds
massing and trilling, getting ready
for the sun to make its descent.
Today the air is still. I notice
the pink bottlebrush are out on my tree.
Before Night Falls
My cat on the step appears to doze,
his black fur polished, gleaming.
But his ears and haunches tenseas the birds get shrill ... before night falls.