Sweet Potato Haircut

In the voice of my neighbor telling me about the oriole in the backyard, handing me binoculars and eagerly waving a finger to direct my eyes.

In the UPS driver who gives my dogs treats every time he’s on our street, even when he has no package to deliver.

In the way my dogs squirm and waggle with unbounded enthusiasm every time we pass a brown UPS truck. 

In the way water tastes when it’s 100 degrees in South Dakota and I’ve spent my day plucking endless weeds from a tiny vegetable field.

In the breeze, hard and steady at my back while I’m walking away. 

In the dinner that is prepared with evident attention, focus, and care.

When the dinner is dished before me for my nourishment and rejuvenation.

In the smooth lines of my pen, time and time again.

In the planting of a young green stem with fragile roots, holding her with a supreme gentleness and care in attempts to help her thrive.

When young green stem becomes a vine of plush, vibrant tomatoes, feeding me and helping me survive.

When I reach under the resting, feathery bum of the hen for her eggs and she adjusts to make it easier for me, my arms pocked with peck marks from the ones before.

When I post an update on social media, something I rarely do, and spend my idle moments for the next three days reading and replying to comments from people I love who are happy to see what I’m up to. 

When someone texts me that they miss me. When I get unprovoked phone calls.

When I’m halfway through a bike ride and I realize the power of my pumping legs, propelling me through the city.

When the morning air is cool and bugless, when the feathery dawn chorus welcomes me into the day.

When Dave Matthews Band fills my headphones.

When I feel alone and lonely and unloved and then remember these sweet signs of love that can be found everywhere, when you’re looking with a loving eye.