There isn’t a simplicity as serene as this.
Picture it.
There’s a rolling dale,
long grass blades bend and sway
as kittens and groundhogs play
Statuesque pines rise to touch
the underbellies of fluffy white clouds.
Fabric on a clothesline is flowing,
fluttering about
bringing flowering scents bursting
through cotton and clothespin
My rope romps with the wind,
as invisible sprites saunter head over toe,
impervious to my goal
Delicates shameless waver,
waving to the peaks of my elder pines
Our swing creaks as I jolt my feet forward.
You’re the only missing piece,
the great conductor to our backyard orchestra.
I’ll sip my decaf,
catch a Phillies game,
or drift away out here.
My heart catches the rhythm
of my clothesline sensory symphony.
I feel my eyes crinkling
that hot tightness tinting my alabaster complexion.
Your seat is always waiting,
along with me.
Soft and comfortable,
with our clothesline symphony.
Dedicated to my grandma, Eleanor Barber and grandpa, William Barber
Dawning Creations 
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