Setting aside time.

This garden is a screened-in floor of brick,
level with the ground outside and surrounding it,
just an inch or two raised, at most - and some inches below,
when the grass grows tall.

I like to sit
here, and read when I can,
with my ashtray and cup, and sometimes
a plate. There are lizards that skitter and jump
in bursts, in-between being still
and invisible

between and among the potted plants.

My chair is positioned to catch the sun
as it rests in its race, while we go round.

There's a bird, who has leapt to the very best
branch of a prominent tree, to loudly announce
its name - the same name as its feathered friends!
Birds of a feather all tend to call each other
alike. In this dude's case - head white with a stripe,
wings patterned in almost blue - it is two
shrill, raucous bleats, which come echoing
back. Does he know that it isn't an answering
friend? He calls to himself, not feeling
the lack, and without any end.

And these past few days, an alarming snake
that was sunning itself invisibly - until
I would make some small, thoughtless move
- would flash into disappearing speed
in a single or double lash of color
and blur combined in a smokelike
whip, with a loud and whispery dry
snap-swish, suddenly not there -
the moment you try to have looked
at it.

I rarely get very much reading done,
out here at least. But I like to bring my book
with my cup, and sometimes a plate,
to sit for a spell and set aside time
to look,

just in case I get a chance.

Life is about making openings,
not just about making the most of them.
Sometimes, you should set aside time,

and leave yourself room for things.