Nurture your Nature

No scent of place

Blackbird,

starlings up in an elm,

a flutter of wing from the fence,

in the evening shade of the plaza behind the stores, the wasteland looms end to end. There are no smells in the dry heat, only stretches of pavement,

a cushion of moss, green by the downspout.

It holds to trickles of life-giving water, clings to its crack.

Red fruiting stalks show above its velvet.

The whine of a/c

drones like a bag-pipe to the bird-melody.

Black lines of tar

stripe the way,

a losing attempt to seal cracks.

The orange-gold of a speed bump

provides visual relief. In the wasteland, one notices the details, or notices nothing at all ...

4 cars

dot the lot. Saturday evening looms quiet in the suburbs.

The waning sunshine greets one at the end of the plaza:

The cleaners.

The brake of a city bus.

In the heat of the evening, there is no scent of place, only dust.

[Plaza on Iowa between 25th & 26th, Lawrence, Kansas, 2008-06-21]

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