cicadas
the double dutch girls
take five

onion skins
in the kitchen sink —
leaves raked and piled

warm rain
batman rides
on Daddy’s shoulders

frost melt —
the pewit
speaks its name

late November
no leaves to break the fall
of heavy rain

apples in the grass
an empty swing sways
from the branch

fallen leaves
around the maple
do I have to go home

morning chill
a child’s shadow
moves thru mine

that kind of day
the wind at my back
most of the time

almost sunset —
my husband humming a tune
of his own