Lights out

and we’re all here again

nostalgia so heavy we had to leave it downstairs.

The next day sure to be milked dry

down highway one

to fields of orange and green 

merely for pictures and pumpkins

but then for goats, pigs,

their struts and funny nibbles at the

feed in the palm of our hands.

Later sunsets and rope swings

fearlessly pushing off the tree branch 

and we fell

caught by the tree inches before hitting the cool sand

dodging hands from every side

as we swing.

Comfort in knowing

the freedom of tomorrow 

to do it all again.

Until they say we can’t

and the day is left

bittersweet and mad.