Nicole Sharp

Writes

Neighborhood

Someone nearby was playing blues, and it suited the mood of the warm afternoon.  The breeze agreed, seeming to keep time with the rhythm of the music it carried on its wings.  A lawnmower, somewhere down the street, started up with a choking chug, resisting the need to work.  Birds continued their chorus of gossip and school kids could be heard screaming and laughing down the street on their way home from school.  A pine cone fell with a thud on the ground, releasing a cloud of yellow pollen.  It twirled for a moment above the fallen pine cone, deciding what to do; then, perhaps catching the rhythm of the blues, or jumping a ride on the wind, ghostly danced its way across the overgrown yard; swirling and twirling, floating up the pink slide and bypassing the sprinkler. I wonder if the pollen’s resting place will plant a sense of rhythm and blues, warm days, and May.

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