By the roadside, miniature volcanoes
Erupting
Grain of sand by grain of sand
Tumbling
Down the slopes
Forming
Fuji-esque cones
In the tiny calderas
A hole
At the bottom
Leading to where the ants live
Cool
Sheltered
Sizzling hot asphalt a foot away
When dusk arrives
A refreshing coolness
Covers the road surface
Creatures great and small begin the perilous journey
From ditch to ditch
Hoping against hope
An occasional car whizzes by
©2017 Thomas W. Cummins
Is it just sitting there waiting?
The future, that is.
Or is it there at all?
Yet, whatever it is, it looms
Often dreaded,
Occasionally filled with hope.
Our present steps into that future.
Or, perhaps, the future comes toward us
As our past is pulled away.
Pulled away with its regrets and joys.
Pulled away with its dreams
Fulfilled or deferred.
Aren’t we left, really, with only today?
Today, the present, belongs to both
Past and future.
Who I am is a remnant of my own past.
My present is experienced by no other
My future waits for me alone.
©2017 Thomas W. Cummins
Slightly darker
On the pale carpet of the bunkhouse
My socks are located
In the dim light
I get dressed
It’s that point
Neither night nor day
Muted even further
By towering trees
In the woods
An eastern horizon
Gives no hint of daybreak
Nor any hint of what the day may hold
What a seamless series of nows
May present
©2017 Thomas W. Cummins
Tuft by tuft
Pulled by the cold night air
Like feathers, heat leaves our bedroom
On this winter’s night
Reaching down
A second blanket is found
Pulled up around the neck
Warmth enfolds, sleep returns
© 2017 Thomas W. Cummins
A little house finch
Perched in the morning sun
Red breast, golden rays
© 2016 Thomas W. Cummins
I heard it fall
It was just a leaf
A tiny dried leaf
Yet when it fell
Alone on the wood porch
I stopped
On that warm, sunny, summer day
A slight chill
Fall foreshadowed
Another season
Suddenly present
© 2016 Thomas W. Cummins
In a dim light... 