Adirondack chairs always come in twos.
And yet mine sits solitary in the sun near the
wet grass always resting in her deep longing
for a mate like a turtle dove must when she’s
alone.

Birds walk the tight rope of her back and her
broad arms are faithful to carry coffee mugs,
journals and even the weight of God’s Word.
But still in her solitude and strength, she
aches.

Piles of melting snow and torrents of rain
seep into her cracks, slowly pushing her
insides apart and leaving holes where
spiders craft billowy pockets to store their
secrets.

The nights come so regularly, bringing wide-
open stillness and a damp chill that settles,
quietly waiting for hope to rise and sun-
warmth to heal the wounds exposed in the
dark.

And when the light begins its slow creep up
the sky, so gentle in its calling and the
possibility it promises, all things awaken and
reach out to receive the gifts of this new
day.

This chair of mine sits immobile and still
alone but dotted with specks of sun between
dancing leafy-tree shadows and offering
herself yet again to those needing rest and
strong arms.