The flash of blood red at his throat.
A heartbeat to observe him
hover over coral honeysuckle
before his emerald iridescence
I might have questioned the visit
but for the flash of blood red at his throat.
Within the privacy of garden flowers,
within the industrious world of buzz and busyness
I, a visitor, not required to contribute,
I settle into stillness.
Nor would I know how, if asked.
How to help spider weave
her lacy web from leaf to leaf?
How to help ant discover what he seeks
as he zig-zags across dirt mounds?
How to assist corpulent bumble bee
harvest golden dust on his barbed feet
helicoptering his heist
blossom to blossom?
Surely the birds have no need of me
as they sing their evening meal song
and only chide me for inviting cat into the garden.
Here is a world which makes no request of me
while offering its goodness without reserve.
My delight in its offerings does not fuel its mission.
I am under no obligation to applaud, appreciate or assist.
I, who strive for significance, meaning, purpose.
Here, I am nothing.
Superfluous, extraneous, optional.
like the flash of blood red at his throat.
I’m one heartbeat away