On my way

Not to any of the big box stores, or

To the many fast-food stops . . .

            To my grandson’s soccer game,

            When across the street from

The closed and for rent

American Fur Mart,

Twenty, or so, swaying Ginkgo trees

Reached out and held

            Inside of me, suddenly

            A clenched yearning.

The dance line of Ginkgoes,

Ballerinas staged beautifully,

Lifted to the sky thousands and

            Thousands more, millions

            Of tiny sunlit yellow flags,

Bowing to an unseen wind of will,

Dancing in the air along the avenue,

Just for me, so it seemed,

Enfolding me,

            Taking away

            All power of singularity.

I so wanted to stop,

To get out, cross over and stay,

To hold on for as long as I might,

            Keeping time as mine,

            A tree among the trees.

Then it left and I was left with

Knowing I was meant to be

Back driving on Touhy in traffic

A joy behind and one ahead —

            Two games I never want

            To miss.