A Piece of Paper

The piece of paper with a child's crayon drawing on it goes blowing down a winter street. It cannot decide whether its drawing, the child's world, is on it or in it. The landscape with periwinkle wraps and rouge people. American Indians doing their laundry in the sky. Some such. Oh, and chimney smoke. Always that. Blue grey squiggles of autumn rising over the simple house. This landscape with lightweight people wraps around your ankle a moment, not long enough to bend down and take it, not long enough to have it, and then it continues skipping the air down the street. Strange that the trees you see lining this long street at such correct intervals are all anonymous but not random. The branches of these trees are the secret home of this drawing.