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Indian Summer Morning
We woke to an Indian summer morning;
summer has come back for one last shout.
Our last chance for a casual walk unencumbered
by winter's necessary apparel.
Off to the park, shuffling though the dry leaves
colored by the frost, stopping to watch
the breeze, halfheartedly rearranging leaves,
from one side of the lawn to the other,
Dropping them in puddles of amber, gold and faded crimson.
A few for the lawn, others for the drive,
and a cluster waltzed down the sidewalk.
We paused by the neighbor's garden, to view the
last of the flowers, stray scraps of bright colors,
amid a sea of dry, withered brown stems.
A burst of hope from the last of the Mountain Asters.
Their deep purple and burgundy color, a faint memory of their first glory.
Traveling down sidewalks cracked, crooked from the
frost and years of neglect.
Smiling at the sight of the yellow chalk
hop-scotch drawings forgotten by the small denizens
of the neighborhood.
The Park is empty, closed for the season,
silent, waiting, still. We walk through the silent playground.
Only memories of laughing children remain.
The slides and swings have been taken to the shelter,
Are they quietly waiting for the return of the sound of running
feet, and shouts of push me higher, higher?
The king of the park, the old time merry-go-round has been
taken apart. Are the horses sleeping?
Or are they reminiscing in whispers of a summer vanished,
children they once knew, the old lady in gray just waiting
on the faded green bench, day after day?
A distant bell ringing announces the approach
of the Tasty Freeze truck.
Slowly moving down the empty street.
“Last chance, last chance,
last run of the year”, he chants.
The season has run out for him, what does he do
to past the winter away, just wait for spring?
We do not ask.
Ordered vanilla for me, cherry for you.
A double-decker of cherry, with almost black
cherries, which are picked out like a prize, one at a time.
With determination you work your way through the pink ice cream.
Grinning at me with delight, each time you find
one that is ‘just right’.
Back through the park, you run, then a hop, then a skip,
“Walk slowly, you will drop the cone”
Run, hop, skip, then add a jump, on through the park.
Run, hop, and skip, PLOP!
Pink ice cream floats on the dry brown leaves.
Joy flees, tears steam down your face.
You watch the melting ice cream, mingle into the
leaves, and disappear.
The sun slides behind a gray cloud,
the wind picks up and chills the air.
I zip up your coat and pull on your knit hat.
You take my hand with a sigh, we continue home.
Much longer going back, it seems summer fades away.
The day has turned dreary, just another autumn day.
Why didn't I fold you in my arms?
Hold you close, touch your hair,
kiss the tears away, whisper please,
do not cry.
We will go back, I will get you another,
you can have cherry.
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