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Mickie and I are on the swings, upside down. Leaves to blue to grass in dizzying slow sweeping, heads back and gasping. We are laughing. Do you know this laughter? It is clear fresh health splitting your ribs.

September in New York is so much joy. On the way here we got to see kids with new shoes notebooks bookbags. Hand-in-hand and in cluster groups they ambled down the sidewalk, you either join their cluster or charge through like an automaton. Of course we joined, what we got to hear was high happy voices being friendly.

Bad poetry as easy as breathing, Mickie and I have our freezing toes in the sandbox and are discussing what the new sky ought be called.

Fresh laundry sky
New sunny sky
Blue run outside and drown in the heaven sky.

One more thing: there were blood spot leaves on the way here, they were like cherries on the gravel path. When I stopped to look, Mickie nine years old Mickie tugged my hand. Come on, she said, We might be late for playing. She was right. (Later, more joy will be cleaning out the playground dirt and finding three red leaves crumpled in her pocket.)

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