A Nod To Hearses

I was almost leaping, bounding through
the deepest meadow since '93, not even caring
when the thistles came up to greet me, 
or when spiders were poised to attack.
I wasn't happy, though, simply content
with capturing crickets behind 
shutters,
even getting a bit too close to them.
The way 
the hills rose
in great, colourful mounds 
made me swoon and 
remember,
then remembering to swoon
over Fishers Lane,
over dimly lit sparklers
over fine cushions 
which held my 
every infantile dream.
I would only stop day-dreaming
to 
nod at the passing hearses,
look to the barren patches
where 
trees once stood,
and laugh at the contrasts between us.
Category:Catalog