I hold fast to my walking
stick as I leave
the beaten path to follow
my own trail
Into only partially familiar woods.
There is a part of me that
Here, within the gloom of autumn
or later, the promise of spring
Tilt back my head
Shake my mane and
Sniff the air.
I crouch beside the creek flowing here, simple and without a care.
A glimpse of a whitetail yearling
Frozen in the tangled underbrush
The soft call the cardinal sings to his mate
The reflection of us all in the stream
In this late November dawn
A holiday! Free from the office madness
still awaken early, as is my habit;
birds not yet aroused.
I put on coffee to perk and my Christmas slippers
step outside to see what this dawn will bring.
The fragrance of roses
draws me down the damp, muddy path
still wet from yesterday’s rain.
The very best roses are at the very corner
of the house
where the pathway ends
and the deck begins
When Romeo returned
after decades being away
he transplanted them from our neighbors yard
who did not care for Roses
and was pleased when I started tending them.
He offered them to us when he was moving away-
I said yes.
meant Romeo had to dig and pry them up
from their current space
repositioning them in our backyard.
He was not as overwhelmed with joy
these many years after,
a testament to his care of them
and love for me.
This morning I snip a few of the finest specimens
tucking them into four
brilliant glass vases…
just to make him smile