It's not like the farm...Looking beyond lead framed windows
with the tears of the city's pollution
adding layers to the already somber day,
the sky projects a heavy gray mist
across the rooftops and
a cool current moves over me
as I watch
the movement of children on a path
across my yard.
Wires for communications
ornament leafless trees
houses peeling years of color
from their stationary stances.
Remembering
not so many days ago
hillside hues of summer green
wildflower yellows dotted violet,
majestic movements of sleek horses,
resting in the shade of giant oaks
countryside patterns of white fencing
with barns looking like
a picturesque daydream
lying back in a hammock
watching the butterflies dance.
The solitude on a country afternoon
seems so far removed
as the truck is unloaded with shouts
of frustrations
and the highway moves
its crowds and horns
and squealing tires.
Another day
the city sounds
come together...
a continous discordance.
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