The Sounds of Saturdays

Near-forgotten memories emerge

Like grass through the melting snow.

Hours of laughter and stories together

Filled so many Saturday afternoons.

Amidst hearty conversation

And sportscasters on TV,

A unique, yet familiar sound

Would rise from the other room.

…clunk

…whoosh

…rattle

The rhythmic tones

Bring a smile to my face.

…thud

…whir

…thump

Swirling spheres entrance me

As they pick up more speed.

…zoom

…whack

…bump

Momentum eventually slowing

Their journey coming to an end.

…clatter

…clack …clang

…clink …creak

. . . c o o o o

A gathering of tiny, crystal balls

That catch the sunlight just right.

Intricate, brightly colored ribbons

Deftly bisecting each clear interior.

Most wouldn’t take a second glance

If they saw these on the floor or street,

But for me, there is deeper meaning

That draws me back to childhood.

These perfectly, sculpted marbles

Are more than just toys for play,

Their glassy facade will always hold

Visions of the past and Grandpa’s laugh.

For some, it’s a penny or dime

And others, the lyrics of a song,

Such bittersweet reminders

Of those loved ones who have gone.