it’s always double yellow lines
and a lone cow on a hill.
elephant rock and a tunnel of trees.
mustard and pink dancing
among prickly brown.
a leaning silo and 
clusters of sheep.

it’s always new music
and torn bags of chips.
the wooly highlands
and the old chapel bell.
towering piles of pillows.
dominoes shifting in a tin.
tomato soup with black pepper.

it’s always watching flames dance
and half-finished puzzles.
a wooden bowl of taffy and
stuffies in the dumbwaiter.
mountains of sandy shoes.
chairs pushed together
and seashell coffee cups.

it’s always…?

*13/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.