Autumn Walk (a poem)
My dog and I take a walk through the neighborhood.
Crimson, orange, yellow tickle the sky competing for sunlight to showcase flat, transparent, resplendent veins. Evergreens relax, sure of their permanence.
Dazzling colors defy their fall before white covers the ground, smushed by boots, browned, erased by jealous sun.
Balls bounce off strings, toeing marked lines. Competitors serve, slice, smash.
Short buggies with squat wheels zoom by holding shiny clubs.
Flat spears join together tall and strong. Stay out, they say, private.
Cloth flutters above, familiar colors still united.
Woods open to a gulch. Millions of years evolved for the sun to warm an angular shell. Feet, tail, imposing snapping head—all captivate, poke out, retreat.
My elder statesman, ears alert, nose sniffing, stares down, a child admiring this strange dinosaur creation.
Sun again warms as steps dwindle toward home.
Light fades, crimson darkens, orange holds still until tomorrow.
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John, thank you so much. What a kind note. This is the second poem I've written in 34 years. The first was two days ago -- I posted it. As I walked Bodhi (my dog) yesterday and saw all the colors, the tennis, the golf cart, the flag, and so forth, everything seemed vibrant -- maybe I was looking at things differently somehow, and I thought, well, I think this might be a poem. I'm really glad you enjoyed it and honored that you read it and took the time to write.
Vividness in moving descriptions