Parkette

Aug 3 2019

Long days, in August,

and after a good rain

the grass is lush,

a deep saturated green.

Especially in this descending sun;

how it catches the light

and seems to incandesce,

a luminous jewel

amidst the shadows

that will soon snuff it out.

Soft, under bare feet,

broad succulent leaves

in well-aerated soil

still spongy from rain.

Like a cool balm

to my over-heated skin,

the well-manicured lawn

of this small parkette

is a sanctuary

amidst encroaching city streets,

their asphalt and concrete

radiating the accumulated heat

of a long summer day.

The smell of fresh-cut grass

intoxicates me.

Combined with the 2-stroke machine,
its volatile exhaust

gassing-off 

and transporting me back to childhood,

mowing the lawn, in late afternoon.

The small engine rattle

like soothing ballast

to habituated ears.

And then the silence

that never fails to startle

when the machine abruptly stops.

The loudness you get

from the absence of sound.

It is twilight, now

and the grass is a darker shade of green.

Sparkling

with perfect spheres of dew,

a tiny drop

clinging to each blade.