It's early December and the park around the corner
invites me in...

I find my way through my well-worn path--
my chosen road, my friend, my ally--
the path that knows my voice, and
responds in a whisper...


At the turn of the corner there is a mystic view:
my prized path is covered,
I could say, it's whirling ... in leaves.

Waves of ruby red, mustard yellow,
and musty green leaves in their depth,
undulating to the touch of the breeze

like a wind of vibrant waves...

Like an illustration in a fairy-tale book

And suddenly I feel as if I were five--

I want to kick those leaves high to the sky
chuckling, hopping,
wanting to roll and get muddled in that hay
taking a dare and forgetting
I am properly grown uptown lady.

And blissfully, playfully, I just roll in the hay.,

I hop in those leaves
as I set aside my cautious
well-behaved Center.

~-~-~-~-~