contemplation while washing down the driveway

thrity-six in all, i think...eighteen children, maybe more.
sidewalk chalk reduced to bits and colored piles where stepped upon.
the art was grand; it ranged from simple (smiley face) to 3-D work.
one looks up: "My brother needed help," she says.
"He couldn't think of what to draw."
She languidly draws fireworks, white and yellow, flashing bright.
Good to have a sister who can draw when your creativity is shot
and the apple tree looks more interesting.

Others appear to be practicing as future taggers;
fifth-grade boys, now facing tougher times
as middle school looms before them, must be tough.
At least they were tough together.
"Go DOGS" it says. dad of one's a federal agent; unlikely, then, he'll have much sucess
in the field of urban grafitti art. But it looks cool, tough, masterful.

One simply writes, "CHURCH ROCKS!" (tho this wasn't church)
and boldly signs her name.
The older ones experiment with blocks of color, depth of field,
yet sit like the little ones, absorbed in what's before them.

Some adults sit in the house; some come out from time to time,
unbidden, just to see
the sight of eighteen children
absorbed in creating
for no good reason
on a summer's afternoon where the sun shines and the clouds
puff and smear not untlike the art i now wash off in fading light:
waves of yellow, swaths of blue, pink touches and gray edges.

the blessings of summer sun,
of children being children
and of adults who have the wisdom to let them be so.