Jasper

I think of the rock chipped wheelbarrow that brought

stone to soil, that brought time

to age. I sat in the passenger seat of the red chevy

pickup, the bed sighing as the age worn bits of earth filled in the

spaces. That hill used to be flat, pulling

sleds up a clean slope now

turned garden bed and rock wall. The house walls used

to be white; I watched him paint them green, like the bird

feeders that started showing up on the trees. I watched the floor turn to

wood, the walls stripped until they too

would become wood. I watched the wings of the birds as they visited

the trees, as they held bits of sky between their feathers. I watched of

the diamond willow, as the

wood shavings began to build in piles next to

the chair, as the valleys changed color with the stain. I think of the

island and the sandbar that washed away our

footprints; as the day that turned to evening, turned to night. I watched

as the sky burned orange, as it fell into blue.