The Walk

blowing leaves
Red and Gold Maples with blackish trunks
sway to and fro and offer up their leaves
to the blustery wind which in turn blows
them and other unidentified bits of things
through the air to who knows where?

The remains of frogs that were just trying
to get across the road to their families and
a good night sleep lie squashed on the
pavement, wet and torn and cold.

White caps of water on the lake appear,
live their short violent lives and disappear
as the wind, like a god of old gives them
life and takes it away again before they
can fulfill their true destiny.

Clouds race across the sky, billowing
and smashing together fighting to keep
the sun from reaching and drying the
sodden earth below.

This is the morning walk in which we
find ourselves, man and dog as kings we
are, fending off wind and leaves and rain,
masters of all we see before us to
return home to a cup of tea and a bone.


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