Beyond the Screen

     Nowadays, I don't spend a great deal of time outdoors. The neighborhood in which I live is not congenial for walking, neither atmospherically nor from a safety standpoint. However, when I do go out to retrieve the mail or the newspaper, or to take out the garbage, I can't help revelling in the sights, sounds, and scents around me. I note the color of the sky and the arrangement of the clouds. I listen for the familiar ramblings of our neighborhood mockingbirds, the mellow coos of mourning doves, and the sharp chastisements of grackles. A stray cat may be curled up in one of our large round flower tubs, or in the corner of the box beneath our picture window. In spring, I look up to see our purple martins, the ones that nest in our backyard condos, gliding and circling overhead like miniature airplanes. The breeze may carry the sweet perfume of our neighbor's mountain laurel. Those brief moments provide a much needed respite from electric light, the sound of the TV, and the non-human companionship of the computer.

     At least the computer is situated by a large window, and from time to time as I sit clicking and scrolling and typing, there is a welcome distraction in the form of birdsong or a glimpse of a passing cat.

 

 

Beyond the Screen

 

Sometimes when at my desk, facing

the impersonal face of the flat screen,

 

I hear a mockingbird rejoicing in the rose arbor.

My mouse pauses its questing course as I listen

 

to a repertoire of songs gathered from

all the arbors and all the forests of the world.

 

I look beyond the screen and out the window

to see a cardinal perched on the door of my car,

 

grooming herself at the side view mirror.

She is fastidious in her routine.

 

She knows she must be lovely

before flying into the day to chase the sun.

 

Outside my window a cat saunters silkily

across the flower box and onto the sill.

 

When I tap the pane it stops—

seemingly without surprise—raises a paw

 

to touch the glass in solemn blessing,

then saunters on to windows unknown.

 

I turn back to the screen and its

ever-widening net, an infinitely smaller world.

 

 

© Leticia Austria 2012