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A Walk In The Park
May 29, 2009
I kick my blue boots in the
reds, yellows, and oranges faded
Now the trees stand somberly
Naked along the worn pavement path
I can feel the approaching frost
Biting at my nose
And old man and young girl sit
Bundled up on a bench
“Sarah, your mother…” he says
drifting off
She just nods her head
Accustomed to the unspoken dialogue
I turn my head back
Trip on my shoelace.
Watch the two simple figures
Blend into the bleak, almost-winter, landscape
It’s coming I can smell it.
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