The Bubble Maker

The marine layer descends

shrouding my neighborhood

in a cool grey silence

befitting my mood

while my body goes through

the agonizing detox of hormones

it had ramped up production of

just six weeks ago

The cramping has mostly subsided

but still physical activity

is a great chore

as it seems my body used up

half of its energy creating a life

and the other half rejecting it

The dogs are pretty oblivious

to all of it - the chill in the air

the quiet, the emptiness

they only know

that there are bushes to be sniffed

and trees to be peed on

and so expect their usual walk

I don't even brush my hair

After their business is done

I turn back for the house

but my youngest pup pulls me forward

his attention drawn

to something down the block

A lone bubble

with no source in sight

carried on a breeze

down a deserted street

bobbing along the sidewalk

iridescent colors swirling

The object is so foreign

the young pup can't decide

if he should chase it or eat it

and so stands mesmerized

until the old dog and I catch up

and the three of us stand still

contemplating the curiosity

It is an unexpected wonder

to encounter the unexplainable

popping up on the dullest of days

When it collides with a brick wall

and disappears into a small sprinkle

of tiny dots on the driveway

the grace of the moment lingers

and I am filled with gratitude

knowing the bubble maker

is still out there somewhere