Feels deep like summer...

not even deep into the summer
the bell curve of cicada drones
in the grassy sway of trees

***

all the dry cracks in the earth
the sun-stained grass cannot fill
but the shreds of an apple-green balloon
stretching over a patch of earth
about the size of my palm

***

the scrape of cement
as a mother pulls her child
in a tricycle around a bend in the trail,
the scrape of a knee
as the child tips over
from his tricycle, then into his puzzled mother's arms


***

the tea-green sparkle of algae
as the sun dips hesitantly into the creek


(Written for The Art of Paying Attention E-course.)