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Memory of a Screen Porch
Do you hear that?
It’s the little finches in the trees singing to their love.
The songs are filled with felicity as it flows from the back woods.
Their euphonious voices are carried to me and dissolve through the screen to meet my ears.
Do you see that?
It’s the spring flowers growing with pride.
Their bright faces turn towards the sun as a young child will look up at her mother.
The view is a little distorted but I can still see the bright pigments on the other side of my screen.
Do you feel that?
It’s the capricious spring air about to burst into a summer breeze.
Like ethereal silk, the wind traveled as if carried by angels and mimicked the movements of dancers.
The air saturated the porch through the thin screen and I breathed it in.
But then, I open my eyes and it all disappears. Only fragments of the 1980 summer are recallable.
I can no longer remember the name of the flowers in the garden or the callings of the finches.
The woods are gone, displaced by a towering condo complex.
The backyard has been reduced to half to make room for the new interstate.
Things are changing so rapidly and my soul is too old to keep up,
And so I think I’ll just rest here on my archaic rocking chair with my hands folded on my lap and let the world transform.
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