In the morning

I go walking

Past fields and streams.

Sometimes stopping

To sit and look

At a man who is running

From what, I don't know.

I'm pretending to be watching

A bird, high flying

In a pale grey, opaque sky.

Snow flurries pelt me

As I am walking.

A woman drives by me

In a big rush, to go nowhere.

Soaking me with such cold slush

Huddled on the side of my road.

In the morning,

I go walking.

02/19/1982

Author's Note: I was in New York City one winter, long ago....

Posted on 06/16/2008
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