This spring, the branches

of the weeping cherry tree

across the street

hung low, heavy with beauty

and swirled around the trunk

like a woman’s skirts,

shifted by the slightest breeze.

This too is how my children move,

teeming ’round my legs

as we set out for an evening stroll.

Shifting forward and back,

they whirl like an eddy at my feet

and it seems to me that I am not the center,

but simply caught up in their current. 

Photo source: HERE.

This post is linked with dVerse Poets Pub.