Big and black
The umbrellas
Knew not of any other size
And colours

A rainy day
Decades ago
I reckon

Men on foot
And bicycles, black
Peddling the tar road
Soaking wet

Their attire
Native, pure white
Monochrome
The photograph

The closer we get to yesterday,
the farther away I feel

The longer you stay within my reach,
the more distant I become

Memory lane a withering dream
from a time the past has claimed

Trading those things I used to want
—for what tomorrow brings

(Bryn Mawr Pennsylvania: March, 2021)

Her feet as light as a feather
At her own pace, moving at her leisure
Her toes making ripples in the water
Gliding over the substance as slow as a saunter
She stares at her reflection as it ripples away
She plunges her hand in and the water will obey
Water trickles through the cracks her cupped hand
Everything about it she can understand
Her only friend, companion, that listens to her every demand
Smiling to herself, she feels grand
~17/3/21