The original green bench seems occupied and I sit on another ,watching the kids go up and down on the swing.
The snow hills were a retro- photography of yesterday , stretching to the endless brown hills with a white streak of snow on their tops. I re-did the photographs , their light adjusted to bring their textures forward. The shadows overwhelmed my photographs.
Shadows pile on mud and rocks,
Until the shadows grow to night,
Over the real rocks and mounds.
We go there, before bodies drop,
Where snows are a white streak
And real things go with shadows.