a metal chain still
swinging

one can only
deduce

it to be freshly
pulled

the room now filled
with soft white light

draw bridge now opened

i'm in  my fifties
and my mind

has never been more
alive

brim-full
of hopes ideas

dreams
and most of all

solutions
to the many puzzles

and riddles
that have long vexed me

Whit Howland © 2021

Stacked three high
with the fourth turned upright

and resting atop
like the star on a Christmas tree

tires

that's what they are
what we are

functional

a part of the wheel a part
of a forward motion

unstoppable
uncontrollable

we celebrate

Covered in leather
decorated in brass

locked
with the key lost

long ago

and it holds secrets
the special kind

beyond words
or expression

All night it rained
and water coursed

through the downspouts
like blood through our veins

this morning
a red leaf leftover from the fall

floats

in one of the many finger lakes
that was once our backyard

and does pirouettes
in a water ballet all its own

I was young
and you were young

as we attached the trike
to the steel tongue

and pulled the wagon
around the driveway

a snapshot
capturing a mise-en-scene long

oh so long ago

but what really is it
I'm looking at

with sunspots
and the color washed out

over time

possibly
the first moment

you and I began to know
what it meant

to pull a heavy load

whit howland © 2021

Went to the store
for bread

eggs sugar
and milk

don't worry
about this morning

all will be well