Portia sat looking at the pease meal porridge,
perhaps she would wait,
wondering.
Cornmeal, oats, cream
steaming gruel,
set aside to cool a bit.
Looking out the window she thought,
time a funny thing to think of
but she never seemed
that far from musing about it.
Birds outside the window
gathered grains, seeds
they seemed so busy.
Trees swayed some,
leaves shimmered,
she loved the quaking aspen,
the movement fascinated her.
Clouds caught her eye as they moved
coalesced, parted, dissipated,
coming together again in another spot.
She continued to watch
as she picked up her spoon
eating the porridge.