Lisa Arsenault
Colchester, England

Two quiet housecats sitting in the open window
catching scents on the breeze with tiny twitching noses
and watching lightening flickering
in the low clouds of a stormy summer evening.
I imagine the cats are content, as I am, to sit quietly and listen
for the random whispered chords of connection
in this hurried human world.
I imagine they must be building stores of those notes
like squirrels’ acorns gathered and ferreted away for winter.
I imagine they enjoy all these moments apart
from the burdens of speaking and knowing,
existing by instinct and wonder,
without the need for explanation or purpose.
And I imagine, for a moment, I too am merely sniffing breezes,
gathering notes for winter,
innocent as a housecat
purring her simple prayers for the window.

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