And Yes, I Still Walk Up that Hill

A lark had sung a robust song
And in between each note were found
an angel’s smile, a softer ambiance,
allowing me to use it - as cotton bandage -
to nerves, fried.

Crickets chirped percussion.
My cat, purring fuzz, walked beside me
on pathway up to hill,
ignoring rude replies of blue jays,
turning blue the air around them.

And so it was, I didn’t hear
the bumblebee’s sigh, nor was I
able to avert his salacious dive
into the flesh behind my ear.

The frontal lobes of my brain
were otherwise occupied (enjoying the
sweet musical lassitude of the day.)
Sometimes, we simply don’t see coming,
those thwacks, and we’re surprised
when they come anyway.

Parkinson’s is the bumblebee that I fight,
and my response to it, is up to me.
I choose to revel in my particular
harmony, to blend with every creature,
twisting, dancing, intertwined,
(including run-ins with bumblebees)
Because, it is together that we form
the notes of this concerto
we call – life.

01/15/09 akc