One morning this week as I walked Miss HB for her daily constitution, I spied a sparrow.  Paused on the sidewalk his/her beak was filled with dry grasses.  The tiny thing flew low across the street to the sidewalk beyond and stopped again.  I feared it would never make it to the height of a tree. And then a automated road analyzer van passed between us. AN AUTOMATED ROAD ANALYZER VEHICLE!  Seriously? Rochester needs a special vehicle to determined which road needs to be re-surfaced?  
From the sublime to the ridiculous.  

I remember it now

I remember it now as I sit in church—this morning’s dream—born of last night’s Internet search. 

I was looking for one, which would be nearest my new home.  Should I stay Methodist, try out Episcopalian, become Catholic, be happy?

And then, there I was in a pew and it was time to rise, but I had no intention of taking communion.  Yet at the rail I am, too far to the left with cold stone under my knees, then guided to the right to cushions instead—so embarrassed.

Suddenly, I was altering a dress for a party saying, “Yes, I can fix this.”  And then passing storefronts and a hallway and Emily Michaelmas--was there in her attorney’s office and I’m still fixing that dress and taking communion at an unknown church.

And now I see I am un-dreaming here at Asbury awash in confusion between real and unreal. Actually, it all seems unreal. 

Marion S. Hancke

Kindergarten

Pitt St. Charleston SC

Kindergarten, kin-der-GAR-ten

Kindergarten, kin-der--GAR-ten,

I remember kindergarten:

The beginning of school days,

Little desks just right for me,

Walls of windows,

Books of Dick and Jane,

Fat pencils and prang crayons.

Everything was possible.

Everything was new.

And then you move on

And leave it all behind

Leave the books, the good times,

The laughter, the bright eyes

Leave the playground.

Leave your kindergarten.

In your mind it stays safe,

Constant and complete,

Waiting and intact.

Best that be so in the mind’s eye

For it may not be so if you go back.