Postcard #1

Crossing the Columbia in second gear,

my tires rolled over the grate-bottom bridge.

Windsurfers skitted below,

like stilted bugs on a pond’s surface.

The afternoon sun warmed

the dusty hills north of the River.

Land Dogs roamed gravel roads

while August crickets tuned their instruments.

Clusters of grapes cascaded off a wooden gazebo

The smell of freshly laid wood chips beckoned,

like a brand-new playground.

I followed a smiling stranger through tall grass.

Purple wildflowers waved in the gentle wind.

A cluster of hammocked trees in the distance:

a pine forest oasis.

Soon after, country music,

reminiscent of childhood summers in Texas,

faded out.

Forty-six hands held twenty-three wishes.

Names were shared

alongside desires

for connection, serenity,

and glimpses of the natural world.

soft claps

light snaps

The sun sat somewhere it belonged.

A grill on the porch came alive.

Shoes were scattered carefully at the stairs,

lit by the front door bulb.

After a friendship formed at the kitchen sink,

I watched card games at the table,

satellites in the night sky.