Permanent bounty; an impermanent place.

Mobile home.
Conjures up the image of impermanence.
But here we are
Tucked in the corner of the Trailer Park
In our own little house
On Wheels.
Without wheels.

With woods on two sides;
An empty trailer on one;
Good neighbors on the other.
The back is shady and full of bird song.
The woods are full of ticks.
We don't go there.
Hostas lurk in the shade
Under the old cherry trees
Where Jack holds court in the Pulpit.

The front bakes in the sun.
Bee balm and sunflowers
Offer prizes to feathered friends -
A flash of green,
A flash of the sun
Whisper across the yard.

The garden grows against the wall.
Cucumbers rise to my kitchen window -
Tall enough to touch
Tiny yellow flowers promising
Long, green fingers when they're big
enough to pick.
Zucchini shrubs squat in the sun,
Bearing fat globs of promise.
Climbing the fence,
Tomatoes offer redness of various hues.

“Mobile home” renders a picture of
mobility but
We are ensconced here for however
long,
So I can watch hummingbirds and finches
And lightning bugs at night;
And pick cucumbers
From my kitchen window.