Pushed or Fallen

She sits

at the furthest edge

of the playground.

Knees up toward her chin,

holding the notebook

in which she has sketched

the delicate leaves

which have fallen

to the asphalt

in front of her.

Small bits of beauty

but,

like herself,

they are sketched

each one,

alone.

Some Days, I Hate Yellow

Yellow streetlights
Against yellow leaves
Throw me into a sepia toned world,
Where the streetlight
throwing my shadow
flickers and dances
as gas burns.
My frock coat opens
in the breeze,
exposing my waistcoat
in the light
for just a moment
before the light
winks out of existence,
leaving me in a darkness
not experienced since childhood.
The world smells different,
both cleaner
and dirtier
depending on the shifting winds.
I blink
and it’s gone.
I stand, shod is ASICS,
jacketed in fleece,
transfixed by yellow.

Carry On

With one pull of the rake
the wasps nest bounces
to the top.
So light
as to belie its very substance.
Hexagonal walls
still intact,
offering resistance
to my hand
as pressure is applied.
Beauty in design
I could never
replicate.
Nor want to,
as the master
of this craft
lives here
today.

Another Ordinary

"I know it sounds a bit cliché
There's no such thing
As just an ordinary day " - Phineas and Ferb

She shuffles through
the piles of leaves
at the edge of the trail,
then clambers up onto a stump,
posing for a photograph.
As I snap the sun washed scene
it occurs to me that this is, perhaps,
the thirteenth
or fourteenth photograph
from this same spot.
The first, of a small girl,
barely walking, who needed to be picked up
and placed on the stump
while her mother worried she might fall.
This last, for now, of a girl
tall enough to ride
a roller-coaster.
I discretely wipe my eyes
as I tuck away
another ordinary day.

Ordinary

Harvesting the ordinary magic
of a moonless night.
Foot falls on concrete,
creating the illusion
that my path
runs counter
to the rotation
of the Earth
and, somehow,
my small movements
extend the moment
enough
so I may notice
the wind, blowing through
autumn leaves,
hits many of the notes
of a spring breeze
but hidden in its song
rings
winter.

Beauty tried to hide

Under matted hair
and mottled clothes
she shuffled through
wet grass and fallen leaves,
picking up stray slugs
and carrying them to safety
before cloaking herself
under piles of orange
and umber.
But green eyes
and giggles
give her away.

Shadow Play

Long shadows
play in ponds,
making ripples
without making waves.
Water strider’s
skate through the shadow
touching the surface
barely more.
Light, playing games
as it stretches and yawns,
creating day
from darkness.