Both Sides of Devotion
I am sitting cross-legged
in my faded flannel nightgown
on the edge of my bed.
Morning light sneaks in the window next to me
bouncing modestly off of mottled snow.
Cars drive by, to and fro, unnoticed
but for the background hum they whisper.
On cue with his routine, the resolute neighbor
with face wincing against the frigid winter air,
drags his disinclined dog home.
I am always amazed at the contrast
with the outbound trip
when the eager, jubilant pooch strains at his collar
compelling the reluctant man to scurry or even run.
But one senses devotion on both sides.
For my part, I’m glad to be inside.
I have been reading Paul’s letters to the Corinthians
as well as pondering hymns and writing in my journals.
I must be up and doing, but luxuriating here
on the warm, rumpled, periwinkle sheets
in an unusually mute house
seems impossible to be improved upon.
My yawning to-do list clamors at me from downstairs –
yanking at me like the man and his dog linked by a leash.
This morning, sitting quietly, I tugged back,
getting what I need.
But I’m about to set my feet on the floor.
And the turning point pivots again on its fulcrum, switching faithfully
once more between contemplation and action.