working hard at your desk,
you head out at last
for that walk.
Leaves—
which once offered coveted shade
and chattered
their small talk
in virile June breezes—
now crunch smoothly
underfoot
as you junket,
your open jacket
blown back behind you
with each chilly gust.
You pass jack-o-lanterns,
inflatable ghosts,
grinning skulls pitched askance
on each proudly
ragged lawn.
Gradually at first,
your thoughts
turn to patterns,
which weave
and then merge with
the rhythm of your feet.
Never in your life
has air tasted
quite like this. You know it
now: every prior hour
you did not choose
to squander
as a waste.
