She bends over me as I sit yawning
morning lazy at the kitchen
table;
ever carefully, with a potholder,
she gently holds and lifts
the pan handle.
Slowly she pours steaming, gleaming
water into a cup, filling
without spilling;
the brown powder tosses tiny islets
on the rippling surface, floating,
swirling,
disappearing as they quickly dissolve;
the water turns into amber
syrup;
and she stirs tiny circlets with my spoon;
tan, sudsy whirlpools hypnotize
my cup!
Walking down the graveled path
For a day at the little beach;
We picked up ripened persimmons
And purple muscadines along the way.
Butterflies fluttered around my wife.
Blazes of color lie under the trees.
Thousands of diamonds danced on the lake
Around several ducks with their bottoms up.
We took our shoes off on the little beach
And splashed along the shoreline.
We picked up rocks and skipped the stones
Between the passing boats and waves
That pushed and pulled us in shallow water.
Soon, I had to search for more stones
And persimmons, and I found a winged horse,
Pewter, on a black stringed necklace.
I tied it around my son's light brown neck.
He ran through the water bare back
And swam with his mom in shallow parts.
After our lunch of found-treats we walked,
And played and threw rocks in the water again.
My son drew my face in the wet sand.
We sat in the grass, soaked in the sun
And enjoyed the laughter and fun.