At ten minutes to eleven
It is still not still
A mosquito worries its way across the screen door
Looking for a gap
As my exhalations send it into blood frenzy
A leaf drifts to earth
Odd, since it’s early summer yet
I wonder if a caterpillar has eaten it through
A child tugs at her father impatiently
He’s talking to a neighbour at the end of the driveway
Postponing some outing
Now her singsong Daddy, Daddy
Increases in volume and frustration
Six birds trade places on two trees
At ten minutes to eleven
It is still not still
A rumour of a breeze
Stirs branches randomly
A seaplane flies overhead
Its pilot intent on the descent the plane is poised to make
A passenger looks out the bubble window
Wondering at the mundane lives playing out below
While the rooster next door proclaims his sovereignty
Reassuring his hens
Ruling his dominion
Insects cry
I hear traffic humming in the distance
At ten minutes to eleven
It is still not still
David Trudel © 2013
