Who’s up? My old red bicycle, streamers frazzled, basket a bit rusty, but sturdy enough to ride past the hardware store, the lake iced over in wintry months, past … oh, so many things that tempt me to stop, but I keep on peddling til’ dusk. Finally, I reach the park, and sit under the oak tree, where many a tear was shed in years past. Twilight begins to rain its shadow on my yesterdays; time to leave them behind – and go home. © 2014 Jennifer Brookins
Posted on: Tue, 07 Oct 2014 09:45:28 +0000
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