There’s a Purple Door on My Street

lacy evergreens, squishy mud, cerulean blue ceiling and almost-gray clouds;

yet the sun warms my right ear.

purple and yellow newness share their joy with a springish day and

gravel squeaks under my feet.

ripples in rain puddles and swirls of silt billow to the surface.

dogs bark

four cars drive by

a smoker coughs.

spring is purple

and scented of mystery.

a neighbor with a mustard yellow shirt speaks

and baby trees stand tall with green stakes and canvas strips.

No Parking At Any Time.

the different heights of arborvitae remind me of notes on a musical scale

and i love to see trees reflected in puddles,

upside down.

one lone dandelion bloom

peeks from a sea of unmowed green.

a walker with a curious gait pumps his arms out of sync with his legs.

pink blooms float and crows call.

garden beds wait for growth,

a smattering of miniature daisies strew thru grass

and chain link fences at the base of tennis courts bulge out from voracious serves and slamming bodies trying to get behind a play.

a birdhouse

a rusty basketball hoop

and telephone poles with numbers -- like names -- 2188

stand in aloofish sentry.

even the doors are purple on my street.