bright wet skies
roads of shimmering silver
dripping trees turned to glittering emerald
twin tracks in concrete speak of plastic toys
that passed this way a quarter century ago at least.
strong winter sun reflects from every surface
the cold south wind turns the evergreens to thrashing thunder above the humble street
seagulls squealing, wheeling, dazzling white
against dark angry clouds
the world, aglow between the rainstorms
mandarins weigh down laden branches
they have no seasons here.
wooden windows rattle in merry gusts
breaths of smoke snatched from chimneys tell of cozy afternoons within.
mud fills the alley behind my house
I wish good health to the couple who scratched their names in wet concrete at the corner, back in the dark mists of suburban history
the cat I met on the beach reminds me of another I once knew better than myself.
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