Funny
isn’t it
how late afternoon is also
early evening
and is (just as surely)
– night –
depending on the time of year
In the
scrapbook of my
memory
I will always
see the two of you
in a summer’s late afternoon
He settled
on the top step
of your Cathedral Street front porch
you – ever so slightly resting against his shoulder
Who
knows what story
you were browsing in the day’s news
At first a few leaves lay scattered on the ground but by Wednesday whole yards were covered Lawns returned to green only when weekend gardeners shredded and swept the interlopers It is early August, yet the Tulip Poplar doesn’t care Years ago, its broad yellow leaf intrigued me, as reaching between the Manual of Woody…
Door closed Maisie bounded from behind the sofa fresh with the scent of winter we measure the days and hours in Maisie time Locked in the moment he shrugged off a scraped and bloodied face – oblique commentary on a parallel universe Mud and grass stains are part of the game – then bundled to…
The day’s hot breath lingered forcing fireflies out of the grass. Soundlessly they rose – rising blink-ing rising – pausing in the trees, slowly charting their way ever upward. Occasionally we’d catch one in an old jar, while grownups sat in lawn chairs and chatted. Mostly we just ran around small, thin arms o u…
Young and very much in love I’d often be overcome by emotion unable to express the depth and breadth of all that was swirling inside Sometimes finding words – though not the right ones I stumbled over them all the reasonable response rarely emerged Less than articulate and reduced to tears (happy tears, sad tears…
While there are always tasks to be completed meals to be prepared appointments to be kept It isn’t really the litany of ongoing daily existence that sometimes feels too much Happily, life goes on no matter what never being off duty is the biggest challenge Relief comes only late in the evening one day waning,…
I remember paintings larger than life bold, bright colors everywhere in contrast to the quiet house Dreary Seattle days found you hands stuffed in jacket pockets wavy blonde hair dancing down the street – though not like the affected young Harkness dancers who advertised their artistry striking a pose along the seaside Married, yes and…