white picket fence

it will take all of daylight to mend the fence.  a number of things has got to be moved away, like folders of paperwork calling from an upstairs tabletop.  but the sun is warm and inviting. the sky never been bluer 

for days.  the nip in the wind reminds of kite flying and childhood home.  where there was guitar and Sunday, eternal-hours and no talk of god.  the really big things we are resigned to ungrasp.  a praying 

mantis somewhere is in company with a newt.  and all is well in other worlds.  who will fix the fence and who will need mending.  who can keep company with the grass, the wind, the chimes, the open palmed

bush with its white jasmin flowers.