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
of
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.
Our moral compass
can’t find its magnetic north
and we’re lost again.
Beyond Panic 