Distant Gunfire & The Coming Rain

When did I begin to fear the feel of long grass against my legs?

But we walk as the distant gunfire continues.

The air cools from approaching rain.

The four-leaf clover points every way, a sign that we should pause.

Through dragon-fly wings I can see things —

faded plastic, color lost to the sun.

tangled lengths of fishing

line and bobbles, discarded

lay about the grass and trees

Distracted by a lingering kiss I forget

the sounds of birds calling and cars passing

by outside of the tree line until

cold wind forces goosebumps from my skin

The path beckons us on but we turn back to flee the coming rain.

Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

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