LIFE AS A VERB

When I felt the itchy concrete slab of my porch against my bare skin; when a stray cat sat beside me, begging for an ounce of attention to make up for her losses; when the neighbors left their bikes on their driveway to hurry up for dinner; when the first stars poked their way through the deep, lonely blue blanket of dusk; when the trees appeared as though they were black, gently painted orange by the glow of street lamps; when the soft grass holds puffy mushrooms, placed in a circle; when a dog fenced up somewhere cried for freedom; when the cicada’s sung in natures chorus with the gentle wind and whistle of the mockingbirds; life is no longer a noun, not a place, but a feeling.