Across the street, a man walks his dog.
There is the delightful sound of tags tinkling.
Overhead, the meteors fall; laser beams abstract
On a black velvet palette.
Tomorrow I will wake to the lazy drone of lawnmowers,
The earthy-sweet scent of grass.
There will be birds at the feeder, gentle wind swaying branches,
Carrying husks while the seeds are cracked for nourishment.
And I think; how lucky we are, how blessed,
To be able to find pleasure in such small distractions.
It seems they were made just for us,
And the strain of years whisks away in a moment.