Where my bum has plopped

In the same way a room needs decluttering, there are times when the window of my soul needs to be flung open to feel the spring breeze and be free from the dust of …well today, it was discontent. As I confessed this to God, a quirky kind of joy filled my heart and penning this little ditty while sitting in my bright orange chair with my morning coffee was all it took to bring me back to a place of gratitude.

My bum’s been wedged in tree forks, observing life below.

A hopping robin in the grass, a slug that moves so slow.

My bum has plopped on beaches and sand from distant shores.

Aruba, Cuba, Mexico- but Huron, I adore!

My bum has plopped on Steinway’s bench upon a stage so grand.

It’s plopped on edge of milk crates- no pews in Chongwe land

It’s sat on side of sick beds of folks who knew they’d die,

We held hands and laughed and prayed. The door would close, I’d cry.

But now my bum is older. It needs a comfy seat.

The adirondack lawn chair, with book in hand is sweet.

And as I sit here musing what could or might have been,

I plopped my bum right here with God and feel content again.