under the sycamore

A sticky sweet smell hangs in the air

as the crisp breeze abates.

A shepherd, some workers, and a white-tailed rabbit

like actors in a silent film

amble without rush.

The sun blankets the morning dew.

There is no beginning or end

between sips of warm coffee.

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s