Counting

Herb Berman

    And now I rest

at ease on a tender summer day

in this, my fallow season, my seedless season,

my season of soft days and enfolding nights,

fragrant winds and beckoning midnight stars.

Of course there are clouds on this horizon

and time is in decline

and the season

of worry and ice soon follows.

But I shall count the leaves

on that welcoming maple outside my open door

and all the countless chirps

of all the fledglings in its shimmering branches,

and all the petals

on all the roses in my

neighbor’s sunny garden.

How shall I begin

in this lavender sunset

to count all my blessings

and afflictions in these,

my waning days?