No coats today. Buds bulge on chestnut trees,
and on the doorstep of a big, old house
a young man stands and plays his flute.
I watch the silver notes fly up
and circle in blue sky above the traffic,
travelling where they will.
And suddenly this paving stone
midway between my front door and the bus stop
is a starting point.
From here I can go anywhere I choose.
Photography credit: "Flute Player III," by Robert Fries (originally black and white).