Perfectly Imperfect

In May, 2020, going through so much uncertainty well Into the shut down of the pandemic, I had just found my new favorite place, "My Bench," Jamaica Bay. I was walking through the trails sending messages describing the beauty to a woman I worked with in the NYPD, a friend, who was suffering badly from the treatments for her cancer. At one point I spoke of the vegetation saying, "Planted by no one, and perfectly imperfect." The concept struck me, and I sat at the bench and wrote this poem:

Perfectly Imperfect

A narrow trail
Only thing here touched by man
As if in another world
So quiet
Yet so loud

Birds, an orchestra
No song sheets, no notes
They are the instrument
They are the music

The sounds of the trees swaying
As the wind brushes their leaves
None planted by human hands
But by a greater power
In no particular order
No design, no plan
Imperfect beauty
Perfectly imperfect

My path ends at the water's edge
A place where I will rest
For now
So beautiful this journey has been
How blissful this destination is

Honor our perfect imperfections
Cherish our journeys
Celebrate our destinations

Joe Fox
May 21, 2020