Ruth Z. Deming

Sounds delight me now.
Tires sloshing down the street.
A bird, like a whistle, calls
from an unseen tree.

Nothing stops him
in mating season.
Rain, from my upstairs
window, taps like Santa
on my roof

A calm sound, an
ancient sound, that
makes me a child
again, safe as
Daddy tucking me
under the covers
to sleep.