Sitting on the porch with Grandma,

enjoying  shade and beautiful green view.

 

It's may, the air is warm,

full of sounds,

chirping birds,

wind in the leaves.

Only thing to distract

from natures symphony,

not so far off sounds of the highway

cutting through the small town.

 

 Butterflies and bees float past

 taking my gaze away 

 from one beautiful patch of green

 to another.

 

I think of beautiful green places I've been to

All the stories I've thought up 

there and here.

I think of the writer, 

the artist, 

the person I've been to slow,

or to afraid to become. 

 

I'm suddenly thirsty again,

not just for the sugary peach punch 

waiting inside but also,

for the sweet dreams 

I keep tending

but never pursuing. 

 

I pull out my phone.

write a little note.

I'll forget in time.

 

More forgotten than my dreams 

and somehow less;

my exact words

forever

burned into some Internet cloud.

 

And my dreams 

may one day be no more 

than a feeling a deja vu

when I see the color 

Prussian Blue.