Sitting by a pond, with the rush of traffic incessant,
red-winged blackbirds buzz and cluck their private worries
into social chatter.
Sun burning alternates with wind
that unsettles the surface of the pond
making eddies of worries that break up the reflection
of peaceful willows caught in a moment
between waking and full summer glory.
I suppose their pause is an illusion
busy factories working inside a still exterior.
Blackbirds posture and call.
Tree swallows dash about in aerial acrobatics.
I want to be more like the willow trees
smooth exterior but deep inner workings
yet I fear I more resemble the water
agitated into a thousand superficial movements.