Woohoo 

A woman raises her left arm 
and exclaims, ‘woohoo’ to 
something shared by her cohort. 

Spring breeze and the sound 
remind me of a theremin, 
futuristic in the rustic glades. 

The sound comes, perchance, from 
even an older era, traveling thousands years, 
from a Neanderthal trying to arrest 
the attention of his mate, 
albeit his greeting, almost sotto voce, 
not reaching his friend. They both will stroll 
into the white fog, non existence.

“What are you thinking?” You ask.
“About the hands those gardened my plain 
and are here no more.” I say.

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