|
|
|
And Words Are All I Have
|
|
|
|
Taking our leave in the late afternoon...
|
|
|
|
|
|
Goodbyes Mostly These Days
|
Why must it be
the most beautiful
the day we leave for the last time,
autumn sunlight dappled just so,
never had we seen it ladled out
quite so magnificently.
|
The family of loons rarely seen all summer
suddenly patrols the dock,
aloof,
not wanting to seem
the slightest bit interested
in the ruckus.
The chipmunks will wonder,
peevishly,
where their nightly trove of peanuts has gone.
Grover the groundhog will sigh,
wearily,
at the prospect of having to charm new tenants yet again.
The loyal pair of cardinals will search for us in vain
on their routine nightly visit,
decreeing their human companions to be fickle at best.
|
Taking our leave in the late afternoon,
the dirt road will unspool dustily behind us,
and we may miss a glimpse of the new fawn
who pops her head out from the brush, curious,
puzzled at anyone leaving such a place
when all around her blazes gold.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
News at 11 Warren Beatty will now be remembered as the old guy who screwed up at the Oscars. Forget his landmark films, his dangerous Clyde Barrow looks. That scene in Reds where he and Keaton reunite at the train station, The one that left you breathless: I saw it in a commercial the other day for Citibank. All of …
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
No More Rust Now that scientists in Beijing have discovered how to slow down aging in monkeys, will we learn how to stop all of nature next? Think. No more showers of autumn leaves. Gone, the soulful, wrinkled hands, Happy Retirement cards. Bid goodbye to old faithful dogs, plastic surgeons, Lens Crafter stores, Gone, too, those gloriously aged porpoises, wizened …
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
