Views from Annie's Cabin

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.