Mojo (a jot)
Nascent summer fills celestial blue,
while skeletal trees are dressing for the season, fringed with green.
The air is still, around are birds, a few insects hum.
I’m sitting on the deck of my cabin,
The winter was barren, creativity fled.
Now, in the warmth of a new year
Perhaps my mind will engage,
fingers fly over the keys as thoughts appear.
A satisfaction sorely missed