Bubbles lead me down the alleyway.
I gather windblown trash and plop it into the rubbish bin.
A little further, kissed by the cooling breeze, I spy a discarded bloom.
A daylily blossom...
its' lifespan so short already, this one not even fully open.
I hold it to my nose and inhale its still alive fragrance.
Headed for the bridge, I know just how to honor this bedraggled bud...
Along the way, I spy a quartzite on the sidewalk.
Perhaps a youngster found it further up,
in the dirt bedding the towering metal flowers.Then, either distracted or caught by a clueless adult,
drops it...
I pocket it.
Our wide Creek looks more to me a river.
I gaze upstream, midway across the bridge.
Making a wish, uttering a prayer, then drop my daylily
into the water.
Hurrying to the opposite side, so as to see it emerge
beneath me.
My phone rings...
My husband hears me happily exclaim,"There it is!"
instead of hello.
I explain.
He utters an endearing, "Only you."
Our conversation cuts short by a "Call Alarm."
I love you's exchanged, my Medic Mate returns to work and
I return to my quiet venture.
I watch my daylily float downstream towards shallow falls.
"Cast your cares like bread upon the waters," comes to mind.
An angler casts his line.
Clouds cast shade upon us.
I look up to meandering shapes, grateful for the momentary sun cover and breeze.
Wishes float by on the breeze,
from aged dandelions casting young seedlings to live.
A yellow flicker distracts me.
A tuxedo'd canary colored bird casts its song upon the air,
as it feasts upon large purple thistle.
I think of a friend who always tells me when a similiar bird visits her yard.
I snap a picture and cast a hug upon cyberspace.
I am grateful for available ease to reach out to loved ones as such.
I cast one more inhaling look upon the waters, the ducks and bird feasting...
There, near the thistle is a bill, too far to see its worth.
I pray a need will be met by its finder.
Onward toward a local coffee shop...
a chirping raucous draws my attention.
In a sliver between a windowsill and brick wall, a Mama feeds her chicks.
I miss my own.
"A fine day," says a passerby.
"Blessed," I reply.
Spices and brewed caffeine greet my entry,
as a metal fisherman casts his line into a coffee table basket.
Here, I enter a treasure trove, where artists cast their inspiring creations
and hopes, to pay their bills.
Not merely inspired, I also purchase, little what I can.
Upstairs, a cream 'shmeered' bagel and brew is breakfast,
as I cloud-gaze out an ancient rusty window.
Delightful!
Returning home, I admire the Quaker Friends' garden and its sweet scents.
Bee balm and larkspur infuse my inhalation.
I choose a read from their roadside 'library' and
scoop up a few pieces of windblown trash.
I spy a shiny penny from Heaven, but
I leave it for a younger 'I Spy-er.'
Bubbles greet me as I round our corner.
The Soap Shop casts fresh perfume onto the lane.
I smile.
It is Sunday.
It is home,here on North Beaver Street.