Streets suddenly are lined with trees burgeoning leaves in yellow-green, while the cherry and crabapple send pink promises, like tiny baby fingers, into the road. Around us there is music lifting from windows rolled all the way down, the heat carries portions of songs from the lips of drivers; fingers tap the roof as heads bob to the beat. Driving out of town, the season’s change gets marked with signs of orange, their directional nature reassuring that order is once again restored with the rise of Mercury. The river low and green banked, pulls alongside the town that has settled into its curves. Willows begin to weep, and fathers stand with toes in the water showing sons how to cast out and reel in. We pull to the side of the road for ice cream, the olds stand scattered in their early afternoon glory, leaning on canes in lines for sweet creams in flavors of their youth. This is one more summer added to the decades; time allowing them green leaves for just a short while longer, and giving them another chance to smile at their lovers while playfully catching drips that slide down cake cones.
Aleathia Drehmer 2008
Published by Kendra Steiner Editions 5/08