In
September the days are cooler
and
I can walk in the woods
while
luncheon dishes wait.
In
summer I must walk as early
as
my body and the day allow,
for
then the days are hot with
sweat.
I
puff and wheeze.
I
grow weak and am not steady.
Those
days make me think
that
I am old.
In
autumn I can wait
to
walk in the woods until
the
sun is slanting
through
the tall pines
and
yellowing birches,
neither
sharp nor mottled.
I
move smoothly
tacking
only slightly
from
side to side
to
keep the world from tilting.
JRMcF
johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com
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