Now, the kids on the block. More reliable than the crocus. As they appear, glove in hand between the houses, where the grass lies dormant and brown sticked hydrangea become bases. The promise of the season bright in their eyes and in the gardener neighbor quietly taking stock of her bed.
Now, the kids on the block. They are reliable, I know. In the last light of a late August day, they run for a pass between the houses. The apple tree, sighing heavily with fruit becomes a goal post. Promises made. Some broken. The gardener neighbor hidden behind the foliage in front of her porch makes plans for next year.
