|When we lived in the foothills of the Flatirons|
I would watch my children play in the snow...
I'd recall my own serious games on the farm:
ponds with iron ships,
filched from the hotplates of the Aga stove,
cities re-built from yellowed magazine photos,
found on a stack in the storage room.
Now I look at our own thick photo albums:
here I have three red maple leaves
one for each child,
from the only tree- a prophesy-
that grew in the Denver back yard.
(WOTD: Imponderable(Eng) and Plancha(Spanish))