Dancing leaves offered a kind greeting,

as though they had remarked our long absence.

We settled near the water for comforted seating –

and to enjoy a moment of rest, a day freed of nuisance.

 

An attempt at restoring a steady normal,

or to forget the trials gone and passed without acknowledgment.

Our homemade holiday – to celebrate survival.

A frail effort; a sorry moment to produce forward movement.

 

We lit a fire with trouble –

the wind awakening as we needed its stillness.

Metaphor, perhaps, for kindness kept under the guise of subtle.

We grilled, and we ate, before indulging in pastries’ sweetness.

 

A cream puff, and some light lemon cakes,

to go with tea that drowns out the coldness of river banks.

We played with rackets, and tried playing with stakes,

but competition does not fit when results draw blanks.

 

As the sun began to set, we had had our fill,

of breezes, time, nourishment and small talk.

There was a satisfaction, truly, in the portions received still.

Had we still been young, we would have marked the occasion with chalk.