The evaporated mist condensed suddenly as a flash;
Over the southern edge into a sharper view.
A flock of geese in flight, patiently beating wings and passing overhead,
captures the few seconds of an eternity.
(While also protecting the top of your head.)
This sky’s sketch will meet gawking looks from the meadow imbued countryside.
Then the brilliance of those few colors become more real:
Greys and gawks smolder in a scene of polarity.
Those colors and sounds leap out
Like hands, red from climbing disheveled bark
On an old, stoic Elm near the barn.
(When you could easily climb a tree.)
The evaporated mist had condensed suddenly as a flash
Over the southern edge into your view.
Amidst clouds and possibly a lost streak of fire,
Those geese break out from the wide open blue sky into the kaleidoscope of a setting sun.
With a whisper, they are gone;
Well below the rim of another day.
“Am I still here,” I wondered.
(Or is the mind traveling far and wide?)
I turn my back on the sky.
And, forgetting the dream or reality,
I meander up the tufted slope of meadow.
The sky winks and sends whispers to the figure:
(“Take care. Until tomorrow, Goodbye.”)