Out and back

 

A spring day,

one of the first true shirt-sleeved days

since last year.

A day to be walking out along the levee.

Ought to be something to make a poem about.

But it’s just the gray fringe of trees budding green.

And below and off to the side,

that henbit purpling

and an occasional round sun-colored dandelion.

My feet scuffling gravel,

one step, then another.

Scuffling.

I finally turn.

Now the sun squints my other eye.

The breeze at my back –

but it’s so slight

it’s hardly worth a mention.

A butterfly, or perhaps

it’s a moth - who could possibly care

but another of its kind.

White winged, it flits, flutters,

can’t hold a straight line for anything.

The shadows of tree branches

fall across the levee,

but not dark enough to trip me up.

My feet scuff the gravel,

one step and then another.

That blue sky, blue sky,

so blue a sky that you can’t tell

how deep it goes.

Still, tomorrow this passing day

will be as if it never was.

Too bad I found so little to say.