Nothing Unimportant

First thing every morning after I rise,
take care of business and dress,
I go out on the veranda,
pry off the orange plastic lid
from the Home Depot bucket,
take the large red tumbler and scoop
the piled seed until the cup is brimming
with breakfast for the birds waiting
in the dunes for my daily return.
It is a comfortable ritual—
one that lets me touch the edge of wholeness—
connection to this world,
a functional part performing a necessary task,
like loving something enough to care for it,
like being needed in return—
even if only for the gift received.
There is nothing small about any deed done
for the sake of love.
There is nothing unimportant about being
needed in return.