The clouds drift slowly lit by the falling
Light of the evening sun. The green of
The trees fading toward silhouette while
Maintaining enough shades of green to keep
The eye working like a painter blending
In the cool part of day when bugs come out,
And children come in. At least when children
Were still allowed to go outside to play
Before times of mass-communication
When we didn’t know what we didn’t know.
When we didn’t have a constant window
Showing the red-faced people with their signs
And their people behind the podiums
Baiting us with the words they want to say.