The sky started
As gray as
The rinse bowl
For an artists
Brushes absent of
Color containing many
A parasoles opened
Casting opaque shadows
Everything is muted
As though time
Has turned down
Its own volume
Sleepiness persists here
Daybreak takes effort
Unlike Christmas morn
Even birdsongs lay
Absent like a
Cut telephone line
All I hear
Is my own
Sip sip sip
And grass growing
It seems as
Though so many
Come back to
Me not as
Returned mail but
Rather like dogs
After a romp
In the brambles
Dirty smelly weary
Looking for a
Smiling face and
Some comfort after
Their far-off adventures
I guess I’m
Home to them
What a marvelous
Thing to be
For someone else
It’s not the
Grand things I
Remember it’s all
The tiny hints
Of you that
Few ever see
That floats me
Like a buoy
In the water
Sleepy eyed mornings
Wink and giggle
Hide and seek
Among the hedges
Hiding in freshly
Raked piled leaves
Fresh snowball fights
That final last
Kiss good night
Before sleep pulls
Up the covers
All these silly
Inconsequential little things
The hardest part
Of camping isn’t
Pitching the tent
It’s taking it
Down for with
It goes joyful
Wilderness and starry
Skies and back
You go living
In little boxes
There is something
To be said
For freedom clear
Of constraints and
Limits I shall
Remember our moonlit
Nights the fire
All our dreams
As we return
To our tidy
Simple little lives
There’s morning chill
Buzzing around me
Like plump bumblebees
God’s blue eye
Peeks through soupy
Gray clouds winking
Like attracted teenagers
Bundled in cardigan
Throwing open doors
Far off lilacs
Rush in bathing
Me in sweet
Aromatic mid-summer smell
Odors of coffee
And buttered toast
Join me here
Like old friends
Bringing me comfort
Knowing wherever you
Are you’re doing
The same things
Seeing the same
Smelling the same
Just as me
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 