Elegy

I miss the days

sitting with my toes in the grass

the two of you

running after the dogs

with bare feet and time to spare.

Even the breeze blew slower,

the cars passed fewer

and I saw more of your smiles.

The butterfly on the Plumbago

sent you both dashing

for the bug book

and we'd take our time

in finding it, writing it.

The color, the name, the caterpillar.

I miss the days of misdirection

and time lost making lists.