Fascinating images from long ago glitter in the grass.
A daughter runs through a sprinkler across the wet lawn.
Another turns the page while sitting on the driveway reading.
Still another calls for me to give her a push on the swing.
I ignore the silent roaring of time feeling my very bones become old.
The neighbor makes himself known with a call and a wave.
A dead man out of mind, a forgotten ancestor, rises to play.
Buckets and toy shovels wait in the sandbox where some grass grows.
The soundlessness cannot last all the bright day long, can it?
I look around for my hiding place we built the previous winter in the snow.
All I see is the length of reflected light stretching toward my eyes.
In the water the nightscapes dance as a promise after the sun goes down.
A Thread You Follow 