Before the Street Lights Come On

Last night making my way home, driving a little blind in the heavy fog, my corner appeared under the the streetlamp's amber glow. The rays whispered softly through the branches and feathery leaves of the Jacaranda tree, "You made it home." I walked up the sidewalk to my front door and turned to face the light and follow the trail to the ground. The corner even more illuminated from this angle with blurred patterns of Jacaranda limbs below—this stirs a memory of a poem I wrote a while back. My pair of Jacaranda trees have been a source for writing inspiration on several occasions—this one I called "Jacarandas at Night", and for those of you who lived through a time when games were played out-of-doors, I hope you enjoy this little trip down memory lane.

Jacarandas at Night

The street lights come on.

A childhood reminder,

of days long gone.

Now's the perfect time,

for a game of hide and seek.

But promises were made,

that we must keep.

To be tucked in safely,

before it gets too dark.

At first a soft glow,

turning quickly to bright.

Marking a summer's day ending,

and turning to night

The Jacaranda tree grows,

beneath the streetlamp's glow.

With her branches in shadow,

as if pointing the way home.