The fallen leaves rustle priestly:
Scattered like gifts along this path,
At the feet of those who birthed these offerings –
A loyal line of guardian trees.
A spirited wind,
Reminiscent music of the sea,
Moves through near-stripped branches
Moves through near-stripped me.
Along the winding trail
Energetic hounds, let loose by owners,
Foolishly chase their tails
Excited and giddy
Finally to be free.
Children, encouraged by parents,
Laugh and happily scream
The whizz of turning wheels,
Then trudge back up again,
As if in a reoccurring dream.
At the open expanse of the meadow
Late season sun warms young couples;
Stretched out idle innocence
On a luscious blanket of grass.
A reminder of unblemished love
That once might have been.
And there at the top of the hill
The worn out bench patiently waits
For this old friend to take his seat –
A silent logical act
So together we may witness
The tired season’s final scene.