Monday, April 16, 2018
As winter leaves,
The last of winter’s leaves
In corners, crevices, and crannies
Like old women gossiping
They give occasional nervous flutters
As though having been suspiciously watching for my broom.
I approach and some snap to attention
A small cackling crackle of life
Yes - they had been waiting…
My broom moves and so do they
Careful in a cavalier kind of way…
They all run away
In rhythm to some unknown energy
Laugh dancing across the porch
What if it is not the wind?
What if it is of their own accord?