if i'm lucky i get a crescent moon to tickle my toes.
i am breathing in spring-almost-summer, all hot air and sunshine and breezes across the honeysuckle. today is a skirt and flipflops and a cat sprawled across a messy back porch, following the morning sun and the afternoon shade. by 6 she will be asleep under the bench below my kitchen window. by 8 there will be the sound of cicadas, eager for night to fall. by dark, there will be owls.
the stuff of healing.
it is just another summer, another face in the crowd of summers, but, like all those faces, it wears its own smile and cries its own tears when it thinks no one is looking. it moves down the familiar sidewalks and the shadows that fall across its feet are summer snowflakes, each one new and none identical and all gone in an instant. it is just another june-not-yet-summer, but almost there, almost. it is the last full moon of spring.
sometimes in the late night darkness, the front door still open, i hear skateboards on the street outside, clattering fast down the brick street, and i feel the joy fly past with the sound, chased by the bark of a distant dog. the cicadas all go quiet at once, and the night inhales. exhales, and they begin again.