Pandemic Dream

It is that moment
in childhood’s early summer
when everything is fresh
with possibility
and forever
makes its promises
once more.

I open the back screen door
and step barefoot
into the still cool and dewy
morning.

I pass the small fish pond.
By August, it will be a mucky mess
but for now,
it is clean and stocked
with shining goldfish.

I walk the worn path
to the slat fence
between yards
and slip through
into Ellie’s garden.

Here, I am free to roam
along the magical paths
and look for fairies
among the flowers.
I can feel Ellie
watching over me
from her kitchen window.

That’s all.
Just a moment
from long ago,
so ordinary
that I did not know
to pluck it from time
for later savoring.

Yet,
like a dormant seed,
it sprouts now
from the fertile soil
of this season of solitude.

By Maria Brady-Smith
Photo by Mike Smith