Multi-colored leaves
brown and swirl to waiting earth.
Next autumn begins.
* * *
Today, sick at home
I read, drink tea and write this.
Desires rise and die.
* * *
Wind (whoosh!) thru the pines,
ahead a mountain stream
gurgles around slippery snow-capped rocks.
Ecstatic in new snowshoes
I stumble along this white unknown trail.
* * *
Streets alive!
dazzling neon reflections
in puddles and gutter runoff.
Once more
I must see Chinatown
at magic hour in winter rain.
* * *
Waves of wet traffic
rise from the asphalt ocean
seven floors below.
* * *
A brief blast of taxi horns
chases away errant thought.
For an instant
I sit empty–
filled with the sound
of the world.
* * *
Forsaking the highway
for roads with names,
the journey becomes
our destination.
How sad when it ends.
Yet how good to arrive.
* * *
Welcome! 