My Letter Poem
January 27, 2005

Dear Nora Beth,

I write to you from the fairgrounds,
This peaceful summer day.
I am under a tree.
There are performers
Playing strangely wonderful music,
Blowing on digeridoos and tapping on bongos,
With strange dancers in strange attire
Waving their arms all around,
And children making a painting--
A team creation.
The August sun leaks through the leaves
Under which I am sitting.
It simmers, but the leaves have subdued it.
Tiny clouds breathe white fire like a dragon,
The same ones that lingered in the sky
That one time
When we did somersaults in the knee-deep snow.

Till the old rooster crows again,
Stephy D.