cottonwood leafs shimmer silver in the sun,
the moment beyond value.
worth more than money markets could image,
incalculable on a spread sheet,
unlocking a treasure trove of memories under a childhood sun.
lightning fills the eastern skies,
hail and flooding rain,
instead of fire and brimstone,
punishing sinners and saints alike.
the bridge spans the river,
trestles of iron from another century,
when the country new,
and hopes still lived,
the dreams now as rusty as the iron,
brittle with age.
Doug Polk is a poet living in the wilds of central Nebraska with his wife and two boys, two dogs and four cats.