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04/05/11 - (1)
Fort Sunday
Though Sunday's activities ("active" being the operative root word) Would have been sufficient surfeit For any healthy, robust, red-blooded human being Who's reached the ripening old age of adulthood Without succumbing to the contraindications of sedentariness, They were hardly a start for energetic Savvy and Parker, Who, arriving with us, back at the house, just before six — After a marathon day of brunching at Pumpernickles Delicatessen, Hiking the wolf sanctuary, in ninety-degree heat, Exhausting Tilles Park's playground, orienteering the grocery store — Slipped off into the greening coverts of the backyard, While, for a rejuvenating hour of sunning, relaxing, touching, We lounged on the screened-in porch, then moved onto the deck, To watch the hurly-burly flurry of perpetual motion Being perpetrated by two oblivious-to-the-world worker-bee souls Driven to alter, forever, the fascinating shape of the focused moment, By constructing — from gathered-up sticks, bricks, sawed logs, Located amidst next-door's dense overgrowth And carried back to the base of the most adaptable white pine — A fort of enormous import to our suburban well-being. As they set temporarily permanent perimeters and parameters That imposed order on the acre-wide wilds of the lawn, We watched brave, heroic, industrious Parker and Savvy Transform the landscape into an inviolable state And felt safe, in the protective embrace of their imaginations.
04/05/11 - (1)
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