The sun has gone
But the sky refuses to let go of the day
This overly warm tail end of winter
A perfect evening for a walk through the park
An interlude from the business of work
and then food
before the couch
and television
The slothic consumption and consummation of the day
The tree branches are bare
But the bone chilling North Sea wind
channeled across river water and valley
is still for once
This is not spring
yet spring is foreseeable
in the flowers with the social skills of weeds
Not the explosions of color
like cluster munitions
that are the other side of Easter
Just the IEDs of early bulbs
poking through muddy ground
The runners are out in packs 30 deep
Their gaggle announces them before their head lamps
A cheerful yet insular cult
with the dreary distinction of no good collective nouns
Those that are excluded
the aloof and the novice
recognizable by style, form,
and levels of accessorization
Romantic couples of coffee table photography collections
Hand in hand comfort of being at ease
of not taking the familiar for granted
or worse, making do, because breakups are hard
The awkward interchange of dating teenagers
Enclouded in a swarm of perfume cologne mixed molecules
The smell of future hopes and sticky fumblings
The parked cars seeking the secluded dark
The doggers, those without a room, and the cars that are empty
Sometimes a parked car is just a parked car
The electric bicycles are like cauldrons of bats
fading in and out of the night
with swiftness and stealth
The oxymoronic lack of lighting
explainable as youthful action movie fantasies
This is the land of the dog walker
All else are tourists
But willing to share because after all
it is a beautiful night
And what of me?
I walk through Victorian historic splendor
celebrating not a mobile cell phone in sight
The wider embrace of the real
An element of time travel given away
by the LED dog collars
and air-podded ears
As I leave the park behind
chasing the sun and losing
I’m mocked by the green LEDs
of emergency lighting batteries
visible through the glass walls of hot houses
A shrink-wrapped serving of the Mojave,
and the Amazon,
on the Scottish coast
I am reminded that moments are special
because they are moments
Momentous, in their ordinary joy.
Word Outlet 