Bluebird

Every morning down by the lake,
I pass a group of six to a dozen devotees
practicing tai-chi
as beautifully choreographed
as ballet.

But today there’s only one of them,
an older Chinese woman with a burnished face
and inward concentration,
arm coming down,
foot coming up
in the slowest of slow motion.

And I sigh.
I wish I could I could join her
to give her a bit of company,
but I don’t have that kind of patience.

My mind doesn’t work like that.
It’s happiest when it’s flooded with images
morphing into characters
striking up playful conversations with each other.
This is what centers me.

So I turn left and wander on
when bam!
a bluebird flashes in from behind me
and lands on a branch
five feet away.

I freeze mid-step and stare at her.
She stares back at me.
The two of us
together in a motionless tai-chi moment
of namaste:
I see you
seeing me
seeing you.
Just this and nothing more.