A dog’s staccato bark. The melody of a robin singing in the maples. Harmony by the other songbirds. A wisp of breeze fluttering the canopy in the backyard. A pale blue sky promising perfect weather. The sun descending toward the Ramapos.
An aroma of sauteed peppers and onions. Mira prepares a frittata that we’ll eat in ten minutes. Water splatters out of a faucet for a moment.
I rest. Earlier, I returned Amauris’ incomplete English Regents to him for the third time.
“Mister, I’m getting mad!”
“I’ll get a second opinion from Ms. P or Mr. Z.”
A sheepish grin before he sat down and wrote what he had protested that he could not.
A truck rumbles up River Road, turns down Victory toward Mayer. The breeze returns. The songbirds keep singing. We’ll sit at the granite patio table on our deck soon, under a pale blue sky.
late spring afternoon
clank of plates on the table
as traffic passes
more by FRANK J. TASSONE
photograph by Daria Nepriakhina