an assortment of life;
a juxtaposition of colors--weaved together
like
the Bayeux Tapestry.
The drummers beat,
the runners stomp
the dogs barking and the babies whining---a discordant symphony.
the evocative fragrance of the fresh blooms draws you in,
like the songs of the Sirens, and takes you back to
that Kiss.
A flight, instant euphoria.
intricate footwork
rhythmic guitars keeping the time
while the soloist lets his fingers run like Arabian horses through
the desert; they are wild and free.
There are melodious horns sounding out the
laughter,
the kind that makes one's heart soar.
The sun playfully dancing across the leaves, while
the oaks, in their fashion, sway gracefully to the music.
Students contemplating
life.
lovers basking in each other's adoration.
The soft whisper of the wind
and
bombastic cheers over a game-winning goal.
The unknown dancer pirouetting from cloud to cloud;
the world spinning; birds whistling a peaceful joy
spring is near.
A group of outcasts--old and unfashioned--gliding goofily
amongst the inviting green blades
and
without a worry.
Like infants in a sandbox, this is their universe
and
we are the ones imposing.
A man walking sternly
perhaps thinking of a lost love
while his best friend, in his aged-beaten fur coat, marches proudly behind.
A flock of gulls drift reverently through the atmosphere
like the notes of seasoned musicians.
The pen, tired from the day's work, goes to sleep for the night in the warm pocket.
Then the author gets up as he begins to walkaway, passing by the familiar sign, he can't help but
say "how I love this place of solace, how I love the Meadows."
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