Of a Sunday Evening…

A soft spring sunset

filters through park tree leaves.

Travelers fill the roads, heading home

to late dinners and early bedtimes,

prepping to complain about Monday morning.

Time is seized by pets and children,

and the night’s calm settles like a

flannel blanket,

or a hug,

or a shroud.

And just for a while,

the veneer of normalcy

seems authentic.


The detritus

of a

dying spring

rolls down the windshield

of my parked car.

Small meteors


plant life

given golden coronas

by the setting sun.

And for a brief moment,

for these harbingers of new life

that have served their purpose,

a moment of silence,

and gratitude to have seen

yet another

season change.

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