summer

Drift

Summer and the day drifts and shifts away. Like clouds. Shape of a rooster or whale. Shaded patterns along grasses. Branches that bend against sky. Or leaves. Dappled. There are shouts of a man and the bark of a dog. Voice of an owl calling, in an evening, as the day slips, as you study…

Hard to Beat a Sunny Day

It’s hard to beat a sunny day there at the river’s edge. Like the day we run upstream with inner tubes, scrambling over rocks and logs as the dog chases and barks. It’s all easy then – this living. Terrific, people say when they come and see the mountain and water, the sand and small…

Summer

These days are golden. Or that’s what I tell myself as we head to the river. It’s what I told myself in June or May even, before school was out, the day we drive down to the bay to buy oysters. The day we sit in sunshine and eat cinnamon rolls in the afternoon for…