The Ceremony At the Far End of the Playground


photo by Penny

A guileless weed. The dandelions flower, as a gaggle of girls sing “first comes love…” True and constant are affairs of the heart and late April. Pure small hands fashion a bridal veil of pink stems laced loosely together in a crown; a garland for the girl. The sky turns out its prettiest color in a Crayola hue that puts the sky in the blue.  He waits at lover’s log, testing his breath into hands. He smells peanut butter and fat yellow pencils. Rolie polies come out from under rocks to witness. Others in attendance keep a lookout for whistle blowers, the wedding-crashers. Black ants march down the aisle. The ceremony is pure and simple and the words? Forgettable, yet matrimonial  the way green has with grass. Fragile are the wishing weeds; a bouquet to toss or press between pages of now for later. A young girl’s wish. A brave first kiss. Finally, betrothal.

I turn my eyes to
love, spring, and dandelions~
a marriage long gone


5 thoughts on “The Ceremony At the Far End of the Playground

      1. You know I was just being tongue in cheek! I’m thrilled that you like my small offerings, and am encouraged to keep at this stuff. Thanks for the time I know it takes to respond.

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