Last Morning of Solitude (Sonnet)

In my last morning of solitude, I
listen to the birds sing, they rustle the
trees as they jump from branch to branch, and my
heart sings in gratitude for my chance to be

here, now, sun shining, wind caressing me.
Drops from the recent rain reverberate
as the breeze drops them through the rustling leaves.
A hummingbird in the trees searches, too late,

for flowers on which to feast, and I hate
our lack of hospitality. The sky
is blue, the leaves a hint of gold in wait
for fall, they sparkle in the sun; I sigh

for joy. Raindrops glisten on the spider's
web like diamonds, the air, cleansed by rain, pure.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

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