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.