red wagons and a bucket of sidewalk chalk

"Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, 

and the grass grows, by itself."
— Basho

 I made it home before the bells rang, so it must have been about 5:30 pm.

And the house across the street looked like the sun had set it on fire. 

I laid on my back across the bed just listening. 

Coat-less children screaming with joy- their feet pounding the sidewalks

and a mother's gentle reminder just before a foreseen skinned knee.

Birds singing the sun to sleep and welcoming the buds on the trees.

And if I breathed in deep enough I could smell sidewalk chalk

and the worn wood of the well-loved wagon...

its red paint beginning to peel.

I ran my fingers along its rough and familiar edges.

And just as I felt my body lifting weightless off the mattress

the bells began to play Amazing Grace.

So... this is Spring on 22nd street. 

[happy weekend, friends]