By Susan Vilardo
PROMPT—No one noticed ...
There are melodious gyrations during summer mornings,
Orchestrated cacophonies releasing into the pre-dawn air,
Beckoning creaky bones and joints to awaken,
And join the jumble of chirping sounds.
Summertime brings warmer temperatures.
Rising is kinder to arthritic roll-outs, much kinder than winter’s brutal blasts.
Less fussing with what to wear, less thinking,
Igniting “get outside” - urging to embrace Nature’s symphonic smorgasbord.
Before reaching the front door, the bird festival is already heard at full, trumpeting gale.
And it is not yet even sunrise.
Their energy of musical chatter tickles down to the inner-child connection
Causing the spine to straighten with greater poise and strength.
One more day of renewed vigor.
The aging woman embraces her bird morning songs, her bird morning songs.
No hearing aid devices required; volume level is perfect-pitch.
She dances at dawn on wheels of her walker.
Birds, celestial song, slow-wheeled waltzing, alone.
Tributes at sunrise,
Possible only, during summer.
Susan Vilardo has been an emerging writer since she could hold a crayon in her hand, since the time scribbles could shape words. Writing is her Elixir, her pathway of emerging and creating a place of inner peace and tranquility. Writing is also a place of allowing the "truths" to come to the surface and find voice. Over the past several years, Susan has been taking her writing much more seriously, carving out the time to pen personal stories and turn the finished pieces into performance storytelling. This new journey has her spinning out of control but flying with a heart of wild abandon and hope. Susan writes from Milford, Ohio.