she breezes through

staffing the tent at the farmers market (for the first time) and a girl dressed in all black, (maybe seven years old) walks up and tells me straight away that she wants to play the seed game

i ask her to guess what the seeds are in each of the 10 mason jars arranged in front of me. so she breezes through the first two

pumpkin
            sunflower
then gets to the third one and lifts up the jar for a better look. hey no cheating i say knowing that they are all labeled on the bottoms,
and she looks up at me and says i wasn’t cheating. i never cheat. well, only a little sometimes just to be funny.

 

 

tambourine-like

 

the frogs in the abandoned beaver swamp
punctuate the otherwise thick silence of saturday morning with their
croaking

i am surprised and pleased when the glass jar half full of quarters nickels and dimes in the passenger door frame (pressed up against the car speaker)
jangles (tambourine-like)
exactly on
beat with the blasting music (bluegrass) as I drive down rt 20 east in the dark