The rain ends and my city feels cleaner. Fresh. The tidy air is moist. Just a touch of fog. At a store, the clerk tells me that there was a shooting last night. A man died. His sullen, monotone voice makes sound waves that spread out like waves in a still pond when you toss in a pebble.
I draw circles around the things I love.
I prefer to wait until life quiets down.
When I am alone.
I have this pencil filled with thanks instead of lead.
I use this pencil.
To draw my circles.
Around the blessedness of my own humanity.
Or around a picture of my granddaughter.
Or even something as simple as my coffee pot.
A favorite album.
Coltrane or Rollins or Jamal.
Now I am at it again.
A circle around my soul.
A circle around your soul.
A circle around tonight.
Another circle around tomorrow.
In a mind clear as still water, even the waves, breaking, are reflecting its light.