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Yellow Flowers Under Iron Guard
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In this bustling city it is tricky to find a nice place to wait before crossing the sidewalk. Here, a set of yellows rest quietly under a guard of iron arches.
Evening is settling among the bricks and blossoms Sparrows are tweeting their last goodnights Our pathfinders are coming home. The narrower the path, the better the adventure
Away from its birth nest for the very first time, With translucent tail held high in the balance position, Young Squivino carefully walks along a branch, Awake in the world For the very first time.
Snowfalls mix together in my mind, Fall after fall. Moist, perfect for snowballs. Powder, perfect for skiing. Inch-wide flakes, Perfect for a cold screen door. Milk bottles on the front porch, freezing cream on top, pushing up the paper lids. No homoginizing then. I know the myth about no two falling flakes alike, Yet I wouldn't place my wager on it.
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