wandering from the kitchen onto the porch, facing the back yard;
I recognized it, I could smell it, I could feel it
as I sat down, pushing myself gently
on the hanging porch swing.
It was after Mardi Gras, the season was completing its journey.
From freezing to thawing, to occasional snow;
now, more noticeably, the large, and radiant sun.
I could hear the wind chimes ringing
in the soft, warm, westerly southern breeze.
Smiling at what was coming,
I saw the children, entering the yard.
I watched the children play;
at first, thinking they were my children.
But, they were not.
Wearing tee shirts and sneakers; all of it familiar,
maybe, they were nephews or nieces,
or neighbors, playing basketball, again, in my back yard.
Passing and flipping the ball over their shoulders,
often missing the ball as it would plop
into the thawing March snow.
Laughing at all their near misses.
Hootin’ an’ a hollerin’ as the snow would fly off the ball,
barely missing the rim with those awesome “swishes”
dropping through the rusted hoop,
flying through a tattered net.
Making their dunks and hangin’ on,
screamin’ “Who Da Man, Now?”
Definitely not official and it definitely wasn’t ten feet anymore…
Oh gosh! Maybe, they are my grand children.
Or, another generation… I don’t know.
We must be related I’m sure; playing
as I’ve seen , many, many times before.
I watched the white washing winter fade into a cleansing Spring;
like yesterday in unison with tomorrow
playing basketball in three inches of snow.