They know a secret meadow
deep in a nearby forest,
where they pick wild violets
to fill their pockets and their hair.
They know which cherry trees
still have the reddest berries,
and they climb to dizzying heights
just to cram their mouths with sweetness.
When peeper frogs beside a creek
inflate tiny throats with sips of air
to make loud presence known,
the children smile at each other
with the wonder of it all.
They end the afternoon atop their favorite hill
where all around the grass is golden dry.
Just a glance for bearing
and they’re spinning east to west
with the turning of the earth.
They cannot stop their swift descent
for acceleration claims them with its power.
Disoriented, giddy, and prickled with the hay,
they cough and sneeze and trail laughter with their dust.