Yellow school buses are running once again. It seems too early for school to begin. Heat and humidity prevails.
Parents were waiting with their kids. Some youngsters were well-dressed. Must have been their first school bus rides to kindergarten or first grade.
One young fellow’s black and white puppy followed him to the bus stop. His mom came to the rescue.
First days of school–glad to see some traditions never changed.
No one answered
It was too early
Vernal equinox was
A bit hard of hearing
Not willing to give up
The mantle of summer, spring
Till day, night balance restored
Placated, not subjugated
She left, while another stayed
Call of the crow
Coffee’s gone cold. It’s a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning. Because of that–and expecting to get treats when they come in–the dogs keep going in and out the back door.
The Holidays are rapidly approaching. My annual Thanksgiving trek northward begins this next week. Where has this year gone? Although, last week seemed to drag on and on.
“Nothing but the dead and dying in my little town,” Said the Paul Simon lyrics. I grew up in a tiny Midwestern town. It has decreased in importance as the years have gone by. Descendants of the people, I knew growing up, still live there.
A white, two-story, frame house still stands. It used to be grandma’s house. My sister and brother-in-law are the present occupants. They’ve kept up many of the old traditions–gardening, canning vegetables, raising chickens.
My hometown may not, now, look like much, but it holds many good memories.