Before dusk, feathered greyfriars chirp vespers,
while a woodpecker drills for dinner in the
pines behind the neatly furrowed,
crops of red brick.
Jingling wind chimes announce the huffing
passage of a Jack Russell terrier.
Madly circling his owner, he's a rogue satellite
straining against the gravitational pull of his leash,
lest he spin off into the unknown,
the lengthening shadows and benign dangers
of this suburban galaxy.
Each afternoon he and his rotund master planet
course around the development,
each cyclical foray another chance
to slip the similitude
of the little fellow’s days.
I feel the strain against the leash, too,
always hoping to break from just a little
of the gravity that holds me captive to a life
made of circles, cycles and birdsong reminders
that tomorrow will be one more transit
toward a hoped-for someday when I don’t
have to carry so many worlds on my shoulders.
Let's take the idea presented in the shadorma "Vespers," and expand on that theme.