My Quiet House

by Linda Zeigler

In my quiet house
I sit like a gray Tabby cat
curled into myself
on the softest cushion
in the sunniest window
in my favorite room
watching the October sky.
Wind swept clouds
move like a slow motion story
across my mind.
Birds flutter
round the empty feeder
and my lazy heart frets
for their disappointment
but I can’t remember why.
I might never move from this spot
the birds will leave my yard
and it will grow dark
inside my quiet house.
I’ll cover myself with stars
and the wool plaid
draped across the chair
and I’ll wait and wait
for the sun to rise
and the softness of a new morning.