Encore! Encore!

 Encore! Encore!

At first, it seemed like any park--

just like all the others--

with grass and tall trees,

a slide and swings.

A place where little boys might fall

and skin their knees

and be comforted by their mothers.

But then you see the stone wall,

and it makes you think of castles.

And you walk all around

in search of kings and queens and jesters 

wearing jaunty hats with tassels.

But you find no moat,

and no fire-breathing dragons. 

You find no drawbridge

and no horses pulling wagons.

On the other side is a theater

with both seats and stage made of stone.

You long to hear a concert or see a play,

but you realize you're the only one there.

You're by yourself. You're all alone.

So you take center stage 

and recite a scene,

adding a gesture and a dramatic pause--

Your performance is perfect!

Who needs an audience?

The show must go on-- 

with or without applause.

Parade of One

Parade of One

Fireflies light the way at dusk
for a parade of one,
a lone lady bicyclist
winding her way along the trail through the park.

Black-eyed Susans and Queen Anne's lace,
the official representatives of summer,
firmly rooted in their spots in the judges' booth,
nod and wave at her as she pedals past.

Street lamps stand at attention along the route
lighting up one by one as the sun goes down, 
keeping her safe in the spotlight.

Brightly colored zinnias and golden coreopsis
perch eagerly next to the curb,
like children waiting for candy to be thrown.

Cicadas cling to their front row seats,
in the canopy of trees above.
Their deafening buzz,
a continuous applause.

Like swirling black confetti, 
bats swoop and spin through the air above and in front of her.
They are her own personal secret service, 
winged security dining on the mosquitoes,
so they won't dine on her.

Across the street at the edge of the park,
four deer are grazing in the golden field.
Their tawny sides make them nearly invisible.
They slowly lift their heads and watch 
as she passes by them.

The biggest doe snorts and mutters under her breath,
"You'd think she could oil that squeaky pedal.
She spoils the tranquility every time she rides by here.
Every single time!"