Frantic voices in a neighbor’s back yard –

Young and laughing and loud, drawing breath into tender lungs,

Exhaled mist resounding celebration,

Some small victory, earned in observation.

Familiar the sound of the new season,

Another reminder of how we’re always coming back around

To where we started.

 

Under another salmon sky, Wednesday afternoon,

Smoke sits shoulder-height,

Introducing and concluding itself in a wash of artificial light,

Bullying and loud.

 

Tags on and all, and

Imbued with the scent of fresh figs, (reflective fabric clinging still),

The breeze sneaks in to play in the kitchen,

and now others smell the stove’s sizzling attire.