I am not sad when I feel
the crunch of crisped leaves
beneath my feet, when I
know that in the not too
distant future, it will be the
icy crunch of snow.
There is a touch of, I think,
nostalgia somewhere between
my heart and my mid section.
It’s an odd feeling. A gentle tug that eases when I kick through the crumbling leaves.
I don’t even throw sidelong
glances to see if anyone’s
watching. By chance, I took a
different route home. I walked
under arching elm trees bursting
with gold, aglow in the afternoon sun.
“I have been younger in October than in all the months of spring.”
~ W.S.Merwin, poet
(Sept 1927 ~ March 2019)
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