After morning exercises — stretch
bands for his aging upper body
and rolls for his stomach like

Suzanne Somers did in the com-
mercial many moons ago, he sat
at his closed computer, looked out

the window at the blowing wind
and overcast sky, clicked his timer,
closed his eyes and let time roll

by, over him, under him and
around as he counted his breaths,
deeper and deeper, rolled his head

left and right and left and right
and hung his head while sitting
very upright breathing deeply.

The alarm on his watch went
off. He didn’t want it to end.
He breathed as deeply as he

could for a minute more and
opened his eyes to a bright,
sunny sky and soft, swaying

branches of the trees. Yes, he,
his wife and their Chocolate Lab
would go for a jog later. He

opened his computer and clicked
mail. It was time for him to read
the three meditations and three

poems that greeted him and then the
e-mails that came into his in-box
during the night and awaited his

attention. Oops, he could smell
the soup on the stove. That meant
it was boiling away. He rushed

to the kitchen, turned down the
heat under the pot and grabbed
a cup of coffee mumbling to

himself on his way back to the
study, welcome to reality. Might
as well let the news intrude.