Labor Day

I was afraid to pull back the blinds. Afraid the searing sun would burn the little rods in my eyeballs and leave a glaring memory of white beach. I pushed them back anyway because this was my last day in Cape May, and the weather was fabulous!

Funny that it still smells like summer when it’s the beginning of another year for school-attending kids. Seventeen years ago, I was having my own personal labor day. My son was over nine pounds then, and he’s over six feet now.

New beginnings. Is life really cyclical? It would be if you starred in Ground Hog Day, repeating an endless loop of the same day.

Is life linear? Do we trudge onward, slogging toward some unseen pinpoint in the horizon, which always seems to recede?

Or is it like a child’s scrawl? A free form curving back on itself, filling in the blank spaces, arching over other lines, intersecting.

A beautiful way to quilt, as well.


About Sandy Green

I am a poet and children's author. Visit my website at
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