Dennis Magliozzi

Summer Breeze

The early morning light fills the hemlock with gold.

Across the street, beyond the trees the rapid rumble of the Boston bound train fades; the whistle wails from far, far off.

Here, where I sit on my porch, it is the sound of wind chimes and crows calling. And the occasional hiss of cars on the street in front of the house.

Spider's web
Loose at one end –
The summer breeze