4.14

4.14

today

one day, she made a snail garden.

Today, she tore it apart.

And still, she played with the snails,

pouring water over them,

teasing them out of their shells,

just to watch them slug about.

 

“I wish we lived near a creek,” she said,

“and then we could collect tadpoles

and watch them grow into frogs.”

“I wish we did too.” I said.

I would love to hear them sing.

 

Today, I heard a hummingbird

for what felt like the first time.

Their voices sound like zippers

opening something in the air,

They’re like crickets chirping

only, shorter, faster, and longer.

And now, they seem louder

and clearer than ever before.

 

Today, some things fell apart,

and some things came together,

the way things always do.

Life keeps on zipping and slugging along.

 

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