"plop" and tiny rings tell of a startled frog, small pond plants at wave's whim

Her work done, mom drags her shell back to pond, the crowd giving her wide berth

On Father's Day
I remember Dad
His practical jokes
His anger
His love
His temper
His laugh
His frustration at life
His creativity
and now
at 53
11 years older than he ever was
I understand

Before my morning eyes have opened
a chorus of birdsongs tells me
that after days of wet
the sun has pushed away the night
and finally replaced the wind and rain

It seemed a good idea at the time
the wide beam
protected by a wall on one side
another intersecting beam on the other
and composite decking above
a perfect place build a nest
to raise young
but now that the chill of spring
has given way to the warmth of summer....
many large feet beat the deck above
and slide furniture around
in a never ending thunderstorm.
Second thoughts perhaps?

Twenty is a number of perspective
To a kindergartner it is old
not "really old" like thirty
but still old.
To a man in his nineties
it might seem young, a long-ago-young
a time through which many of his friends,
Americans abroad,
didn't make it through.
Twenty dollars is a lot to a man
in an old coat
sitting on a bench in DuPont Circle
being handed a bag from CVS
containing a toothbrush
some soap and
new socks.
To a woman standing in line
at a Starbucks
glancing out the window to admire
her new Range Rover....
Twenty dollars is nothing
pocket change
she'll spend it here in this line
over the course of the day.
And what of me?
Of my perspective?
Twenty is measured in years
Hard ones
Not quite as hard ones (face it, it's never easy)
Years filled with laughter and watery eyes
Of jubilation and anguish
But years through which I can not imagine another path that I could have taken
to get here
to this point
this moment
with you.

Tangled in thick grass the young dragonfly, freed by a gentle gloved hand.