clouds mirror shadows,
a mirage of reflection;
opposites hide truths
drip, drip, drip in time,
a paddle on rippled trees,
chasing dying light
hidden in the reeds,
emerging above the weeds,
a clover rises
tall, leafless shadows,
misunderstood harbingers
of the light ahead
the robins are back,
which can only mean one thing:
time to check the eaves
slide stones and current
knock our feet, making sure we
keep the game afoot
oh, these summer nights,
when plans and friendships are hatched,
no parents in sight
hibernating moss
clinging, stretching across beech;
trees will grow on trees
streets of amber light,
a gift from the setting sun,
not a car in sight
a mint-kissed falling concealed,
minutes from the field;
a world unseen, now revealed
where sun comes and goes,
a fern shadow grows,
reaching, til light shifts away
puffed up, uncomfortable,
hooked by father time;
friends, this is forty
