The sun creeps across the lawn
Burnishing the grass: phosphorescent, brilliantly green.
It chases the shadows. Protection is fleeting.
A gnarled finger of shade reaches across the fence.
It beckons, but it lies. There is no salvation there.
The air grows warmer: heavier, delicately humid.
The clouds rise up, themselves creeping.
It’s Hide-and-Seek time. The shadows revel in their temporary advantage.
This game is not new. It’s familiar, recurring.
From my haven of shelter I watch as they play. A change occurs: a retreat, a fade.
The clouds have been bested, the shadows displaced, as once again
The sun creeps across the lawn.
