As I hear the wind blow through the leaves of the ancient cottonwood trees.
And I watch the squirrels gather their nuts and prepare for the coming winter, I'm reminded of a few things that come softly in the whisper of the autumn wind for all to hear, if they listen.

Behind the poem is a poet, a lover, maybe a mother or a father. But most of all there is a human being. They feel, and they love. They have been overwrought with pain. And enraptured by Joy. They need  compassion and friendship and the human touch.
Tread lightly, for you tread upon
their hearts.

not life
just the town

in its scale model glory
a whistlestop

where every joke has
a punchline

and business is finished
on the day it's initiated

and nothing dangles
like a pesky past participle

Whit Howland © 2020