bare feet slapping warm sidewalk
hands in dirt
your lap full of purring cat
waves lapping sandy shoreline
the glorious relief of shade after sun
a buttery breeze across your face
the smell of rain
mourning doves at dusk
the wink of million year-old stars
behind the words…
nobody has mailboxes anymore, apparently. new neighborhoods like mine have cluster boxes at the end of the street. small slots for the envelopes. larger shared cabinets for the packages. everything under lock and key.
my husband makes fun of me because i like to get the mail barefoot, right around sunset. the sidewalk is shaded by that time, but not yet cool after a full day of summer sun.
i love the sound of flesh on pavement. the feel of it beneath my soles. soft and abrasive at the same time. like sandpaper of the finest grit.
no barriers, no protection. just trusting that the ground will be there. and the receiving of warmth in return.
it is a moment that harkens to life before adulthood. it gives permission for silliness. it re-connects me to the earth. and it’s always over too soon.
what moments are like that for you?
Thanks for reading! Please clap, follow me or enjoy another poem.
🐝 beth
