From my window

I see children at play

Two tiny boys

Brothers

Bouncing a seemingly large basketball

With skills beyond their sizes

Three girls, maybe eight or nine,

Ride matching pink bikes

Around and around

Weaving in and out of driveways

Between parked cars

Smiling and giggling loudly

A young teen washes his old car

Rubs hard at the rust spots

On the bumper

As if, by that simple act,

He could remove the damages

Of time

One of my neighbors turns on

His electric lawnmower

And all sound is obliterated

obnoxious reverberations

erase the pleasantries

of the summer day

calling me back to

my workday world

I miss the exuberance of children,

The intensity of the teenager,

And the innocent belief in a world

Becalmed in a storm of noise.