Whispers

Yes, I do remember it still; the soft sibilance of long-gone years; the chatter-cackle of kids, the rustle-rattle of wind in trees.

I remember, the shift-shuffle-smudged colours of years like wind-driven clouds of time scurrying by.

Stream's giggle-trickle-tumble on river rocks, chubby children's toes in cold, clear water.

Bright-eyed tots crouched on supple haunches wonderstruck by the sunlit glisten on sundew's whiskers, the hurry-scurry of ants, the bright colours of heath and the bursting, bubbly years of childhood.

I hear them still... as time compacts those long summer days into distant....

whispers.