STOLEN TIME
Stolen time—
why is it so sweet?
What makes me
burn incense
pour a glass of wine
dine by candlelight
(morning, noon, night!)
tiptoe ‘round the cabin
listening to water—
the soft big plops
of rain on the rooftop;
the rushing waves of the high mountain storm
barrelling down the already swollen creek?
What makes the lines of my mouth
soften into a smile
my heart broaden widen and gladden
into a young heart again?
I’m in half shadow,
the dusk of twilight,
in mid-afternoon.
I’m alone
separated
apart
from a world
that’s
—oh, maybe not!—
waiting on me.
I’m in Stolen Time,
adrift with my senses.
Alone, just me
and
the soft wet roar of
delicious rain.
Views from Annie's Cabin 
that was lovely