Garden of Sentinels

January air stung crisp on her nose
as she arose to a moment,
absorbing the view from
The Garden of Sentinels.
Stucco megaliths,
stoic, grounded guards
perched starboard side.
A frozen, leafless canopy
extended before her eyes
framing the city lights
that twinkled and reflected
her enjoyment of the night.

The view refreshed her spirit,
while the old sentinels
added perspective to her size.

They were lively, once.
Back in the days of regal air,
lawn polo, and croquet.
Back when nannies chased
the children ‘cross the greens
and parents ushered company
to their fancied parlors for
Brandy and late-night cigars.

Now, the nannies are gone.
The children have grown,
and their parents, a mere memory.
Tucked away in the dusty bookshelves
of the local library; settled into history.

But as she stood there,
soaking up her shivered stare,
she could feel the remnants
pulsating across the brisk, January wind
in The Garden of Sentinels.
​And they felt good.