Late Afternoon Photographs

Fading images on the distant street, walking and gesturing conversation. In a neighborhood of quiet shadows, and a receding soft afternoon’s feel. A mother calls her children to supper, a screen door slams, a distant train whistle. A warm breeze carries the scent of mowed grass, as stray leaves dance along the narrow street. I sit quietly watching from my steps, a worn mitt and rubber ball in my hands. Cool sweat on my face from bouncing and grab, transistor radio dialed to baseball. A front porch swing rocking a daydreaming girl; her soft shy smile catches my attention. A distant neighbor hand trucks his trash cans out to the street for morning pick up wait. Looking back, I see a now empty swing. From the front door, my mother calls me in. I stand wiping my face with my shirt sleeve, glove and radio in hand, I retreat. The day ended, but not the memory, photographs forever in my mind’s eye.