Whitewashed

 

 I sit in the hot sun

 with a hot mug of coffee

 and feel the sweat beading up,

 the wind cooling, cleansing.

 See bare feet, 

 wiggle red toenails 

 and press the book open

 against the cool, light quilt; cotton and blue. 

 All the cleaning, 

 the tedious tasks of adulthood,

 the drudgery

 has to wait, has to breathe

as I sit and melt in the sun,

luxuriating in the stillness, 

my breath slows, my heart rests

and my mind retreats to distant lands

and older times, an oasis for my soul.

Gone Fishin'

Puffed-up mud scent 

Kicks up memories

Stirs them 'round 

And 'round like dragonflies in a dance.

Somewhere a cricket keeps a beat.

Raindrops pepper the ground,

But the water moves in ripples,

Left to right until we are mesmerized

And slowly shuffling in that direction.

The clouds above, and below 

In reflection, too;

We all shift and patter, swirl and dance

To the summertime song.