The park is quiet; the swings hang vacant,
the slide deserted. Walking to a bench
in the shade, the turtledove sings softly
of the ways of the Lord. The happy grass
eavesdrops on the gossiping crickets,
the dew winks to the traveling clouds,
the hackberry branches sway in time
to the rapping woodpecker in a hollow
tree, and the hands of the honey locust
flutter in conversation with the elms. Wind
nudges the glossy leaves on the cottonwoods,
creating ripples of greetings to the sky.
A jay, in his soldier blue jacket, jeers to the
acres of green grass, "Nothing under the sun
can tie me down!" The pulsing lawn sprinklers
hiss their defensive warning to the jay, then
continues oscillating in half-moon circles.
The gentle dove croons "Grace. Grace. Grace,"
into the silence, a silence in which another
voice may speak, before the onslaught of children
later to come; and the humble grass stands
attentive, as if to say: Let the children be
children, and hinder them not. Let them come.
Picture of our Vacay!
2 years ago