Autumn's Eye

(7-3-07)

The autumn air is crisp and clear.

with just a hint of woodsmoke.

The grass and fields are vacant,

Too early for most children to play their baseball games.

A handful of people man the benches by the rusty playground gear,

A mama with her whimpering baby,

A couple holding hands.

But the air is strangely quiet,

The children's play subdued

Yet in the early morning's light, I hear their ringing laughter,

Cutting like knives and jagged blades.

And the children play tag as the mother's watch,

With eyes alert and full of love.

And I stand by the dirty creek,

Hidden by the dying trees

As a chill wind rustles a single candy wrapper,

Lying forgotten on the table.