Yellow for the Win

Melatonin dreams.

A rain storm overnight brings dusky softness to dawn – a reprieve of sorts, if I am honest. And am I honest? Honestly, it is hard to understand how you do nothing in the face of my inequality. There is violence masquerading as peace in the slow erosion of who I am allowed to be in this life. And honestly, I think you have severely mistaken a poetic nature as charming and innocuous.

Yesterday I was gifted bronze-like elephant bookends. The giver, “...saw them and just knew” she had to get them for me. Intent versus impact.

Around each elephant ankle is a decorative band indicating to me that the elephants are not free. They were captured and dressed for men's folly or usefulness. The giver saw this not and acted only on the first layer of impact. Woman to man, is one thing; woman to woman is another.

More toads than I remember leap from invisibility to intellection out of mulch, from under tipped wheelbarrows and around garden borders. Daisies, Buttercups and wild Sweet William growing along the back fence line feed yellow Swallow Tail butterflies and a few drowsy bees in late afternoon. Am I being too obvious when say, “Yellow for the win?”

The roof of the gazebo is entirely covered in moss and its white paint peels off like birch bark. This backyard focal point is used only by squirrels and sheltering jays, and I don't really know how to fix that. It lacks us.

My knee-prints remain in the soft bed of pine needles, beloved; tell me, are any dreams worth keeping?