Ribbons
Ribbons
Thoughts are flowing
like water passing under the bridge.
There are rivulets that form ribbons...
of greater meaning found in the lower reaches.
There is where the fish swim in schools,
and there are no fools.
Grandpa always got up early.
He took me with him when he could.
We walked to the river's edge...
and cast our lines,
many times,
to chimes... ringing in the trees,
like the bees, singing to the flowers,
every hour upon hour
we were there.
Grandma would have breakfast ready
upon our return,
she would yearn for news, of the day.
Then, she would laugh and talk,
and tell us about the chickens,
squawking and walking all about.
They were in such a pout,
as the turkeys,
gave them a scare in the air,
pretending to be vultures on high.
The best times,
are presents in our minds...
tide up with lines,
"wrapped" packages,
with pieces of our days,
to mail to ourselves when we are old,
and gray, and pray for yesterday's return.
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