What I Do:

words...

...music

...retreats

...workshops

 

On my morning walk

mourning doves, a cardinal, three blue jays
greet the day with songs
an old man with headphones and a lawnmower
bellers a country song out of tune
birds flock on the baseball field by the high school
the grass freshly cut and over-seeded
sparrows stuff themselves into the holes
of the chain-link fence feathers fluffed against the chill
of September scolding as I pass but not moving
farther along in a garage a whistling man
bent over with his head under the hood
of an orange hot rod straightens nods bends again
black walnuts drop from overhead branches
bouncing in their green outer shells 
a squirrel keeps a keen watch chattering
about the coming winter
how it might be colder harder
the sun streams through maples warms me
in my sweater that was too thin at the start
but has become suffocating
I buy books at a yard sale
ten cents each she says but I give her a dollar
for the four I want if she'll put them in a bag
for the last mile that passes by the park
where the ancient sycamore glows white
and gray on my morning walk
AMR (C) 2017

 

 

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