Bricks

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 Sitting on the front stoop

Remaining warmth seeping through the bricks

Bricks that built the foundation of us

Soaking in the last few minutes of the sun

The chorus of cicadas and crickets

A cacophony of beautiful sound

The backdrop to some of our most important conversations

Gravel pricking my bare feet as I walk out to watch the sun set

The moon rise

Signaling each passing day

Month

Year 

That passed as we grew

Growing in odd angles and shapes

Never really knowing what to prune and what to nurture

That was the killer in the end.

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