Picnic Time
She lays down her blanket on the manicured grass.
It's spring.She lays down her blanket on the manicured grass.
And it's picnic time.
The teensy pink flowers are exploring the air for the first time.
And as she sets down the fabric for her meal,
her companion, four legs and all heart, waddles dutifully to her side.
They discuss their life together.
the sun baking one side of their faces,
illuminating the hills and valleys where her skin has creased.
The strands of grass are like earthworms between their toes.
How much life has changed since their best friend went away.
So close underfoot, and yet, to them, he seems six feet away from eternity.
But for now.
It's spring.And it's picnic time.
And they are together again,
the buzzing of the lawn creatures dins as the heart of the world cracks open momentarily.
And everything is simple for a split
second.
Before the rushing tide of Father's clock
washes away the delicate pause of the spider's web,
and all the errands to be run seem to grow anew
inside her mental garden.
It's spring
And it's picnic time.
And perfect moments do exist
But only for a season.
Until the tablecloths transform back into blankets,
And the budding flowers begin to rappel back towards the ground.
Their wilting pink petals parachuting down,
catching the dying light as it weaves through the cracks of his cement.
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