23 August 2021
Days of summer heated, change to a darkening crisper fall.
Life hardens, coils, preparing for the resting-rusting, of winter.
Uncertain. a chick-a-dee flutters nearby, astride berry-laden branches.
Winter snows, will soon burden it's call.
One lone black squirrel, stands squatting on it's edge.
Nose buried in an oddly brown fur tail, it's own.
Remnants of scaled snake skin, hold drops of this morning's rain.
A few old dry brown twigs, hang broken, thorny-brown leafed hedges.
Hints of dampness twist in the mild winds from the south,
Truth of illusion marks a yellow, uneven, fading, distant, horizon.
Somewhere, a tenor beagle howls, mournfully, to emptiness.
Young girls, moving together, striate their celebrations of youth.
There is an ache in my hips and neck this morning.
Heart wane filled, wistful.
Melancholy of dog days on unhealed roads twisting,
Memory of times, long past, fistfuls,
I never can restart, mourning.
I stand beside that long open road, neverland of lost dreams.
Fruit-bare search for meaning. Nature's transitions and streams.
