Neck muscles ache from the gripof little legs, knees that tensewith each new glimpse of a glowingautumn world. You throw wideyour arm and point a pudgy fingerat two girls who toss
a big red ball over still-green grass,your lips babbling syllables of delightin a language I once knew.Solemnly you stare down a fierce-eyed husky, head tilted as hiswith the weight of quiet questions.You laugh at the sudden hissof a tattered tabby catarched in bristly orange and white.High in the oak tree overheada red squirrel leaps from branch to branch,and you return the tree limbs' waving,while all around us leaves of red and golddrift downward to the road, falling,tumbling, rustling through the silence,slipped from their moorings, softly
as the days unnoticed, one by one,
released by the wind's incessant pull.
David J. Bauman © 2005