The Past

There was once a place

Where the mountain breaks the softness of sunrise

Where fishermen sing while tending their nets

Where I grew up,

The narrow streets and old houses play in my sleep

People meander and talk at sunset

On Saturdays a farmer’s market

Filled with animated visitors.

I miss the place.

The past is part of the present

I will understand happiness 

Depends on differences of small things

Will make sense later

I am fit not from running

But from gardening

I want you to come with me

And visit this place

You are a good listener.

The future 

Can be full of chatter.

I become too familiar

With the world around 

There are possibilities

We can laugh together.

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