As I write this, it is Thursday night and a delicious, cool breeze is blowing in through the open window as I sit on the couch. We've had lovely, near-crisp nights for August in Nebraska. I hear cidadas buzzing, punctuated by a cricket's chirp, and there are some katydids out there, too, I think -- they're like a little jazz trio. Peaceful and calming. It's as if they're saying, again and again, "All's right with the world, all's right, all's right. All's right with the world, it's cool, it's cool."
There's certainly plenty that's not right with the world, but it's hard to think on it on a night like tonight, when all's right, all's right.
I keep this poem in my kitchen. It's a reminder to me, on evenings like this, and on evenings that aren't one bit like this, that it's all gift. Every second. Every cicada. Every lovely, cool thing.
by G.K. Chesterton
Here dies another day
During which I have had eyes, ears, hands
And the great world round me;
And with tomorrow begins another.
Why am I allowed two?
Poetry Friday will be hosted this week at A Wrung Sponge.