ICICLES THAW in the afternoon sun.
A squirrel watches me take a picture.
That’s the way it is with these late-season storms,
the dripping comes fast on their tails.
The incessant dripping,
it drives some people nuts,
even when it signals the very thing they’ve been waiting for.
I hear the drip
before I see it.
I turn my head to look,
then, as always, jump to take a picture.
There’s just something there.
I want to be like that,
a person who thaws quickly,
who does not hold on to anger.
I wonder if I will be.
I wonder if I am.