the stale, hot wind of a late summer's eve
cuts off the song of the crickets and cicadas
colorful memories
the vivid reds and blues, yukata bijin
crowding to the bridge
keitais in hand, reaching through the crush of the crowd
capturing the moment, the brilliant flower-fire, yellow and violet
the orange sun
burns through the evening clouds
orange cones
marking the endzones
the thrum of the taiko, the dancing of obon, the frisbees wheeling through the sky
footprints in the earth tell the story
footprints melting away in the september rain
1 comment:
Yeah, but that would give away the ending. ;)
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