Los Gatos Town Square
A tourist from the next town over,
I come for the neat streets and storefronts,
the movie marquee and Happy Dragon bargains.
The village invites motion and
I tend not to stop in the square.
But today my friend is late
and I wait on the bench for her.
Still wound up from the rush to arrive,
I rest my eyes.
The roar of the fountain propels me
into a time long past.
Huge boulders, squat and round
at the foot of the redwoods,
speak to me in their basso profundo
below the soprano shrill of the water.
I ask them:
When were you formed?
What is the story of your making?
The planted trees have taken root and flourish here,
generous with their shade.
Crepe myrtle blossoms fall,
gather, and decompose,
a touch of forest floor on
the brick cobblestone.
Small twigs lay scattered.
Did the nearby crow drop them?
He does not stop to collect them and
I am free
to divine their message.
My friend, it seems, will not come after all,
or I have mismarked the day.
But in an unexpected way
it has disentangled me.
Editor's Note: We asked and you answered ... more than a dozen stories and poems about Los Gatos have been shared with us on our Los Gatos Jubilee Facebook page, or at the end of posts on this site for publication beginning Aug. 10, 2012, in honor of the town's quasquicentennial celebration. This is the 10th submission written by Poetry Los Gatos member Renee Schell paying homage to the town we all love so much on We're joining the Museums of Los Gatos StoryShare project and sharing with them your contributions here.
