The valley is swaddled in sooty cotton clouds.
From the crest of the hill,
I see boys dancing their intricate sequence
of passes and lunges
across the swathe of green grass.
Their follies are blinding from this vantage point.
A word scrambles across my mind:
Futility.
I draw closer and they are no longer in my line of vision.
A motorcycle growls past me.
It bears a man bundled up in
monochrome.
Yet, the worn yellow head
of a teddy bear
peeks out at the world passing by.
The juxtaposition
of army green canvas
and much loved bedmate
makes me wonder.
Another word scrawls itself upon my internal eyes:
Hope.
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