Leaving Westie Way.
Why must it be
the most beautiful
the day we leave
for the last time,
autumn sunlight dappled just so,
never saw it ladled quite as deliciously.
The family of loons not seen all summer
now suddenly patrols the dock,
not wanting to seem
the slightest bit interested
in the ruckus.
The chipmunks will wonder, peevishly
where their nightly trove of Spanish peanuts has gone.
Grover the groundhog will sigh wearily at the prospect
of having to charm new owners yet again.
The male and female cardinal will look for us in vain on the front deck
after countless nightly visits,
and decree their human companions
to be fickle at best.
Taking our leave,
the dirt road behind us will unspool,
dustily, as always
and we may miss the new fawn
who pops her head out from the brush,
wondering at someone leaving such a place
when all around her is golden.