I can see Thanksgiving from here - and smell Christmas too, but at 75 degrees on a sunny front porch? Even in short sleeves, I can't really feel either one.
I watched a few leaves chase one another in a flaming circle-dance across the street today. They seemed so young and energetic, but the scuttle-scurry scratching belied their age. I couldn't help but smile. Nothing like old folks acting like younguns, holding hands and giggling, forgetting...
Others would have me believe that the magic is in the forgetting. I know the truth; the magic is in the holding hands. When you're holding hands, you don't even have to dance because just sitting still in the sunshine is a joy.
I could have sworn you said you weren't a poet anymore, E.
ReplyDeletelol this started out with a real intent to write a poem. turned out to be prose, but it's probably the closest I've come to being poetic in, well... years. So maybe I'm not a poet anymore, maybe I'm a 'prose-et"? :)
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