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Personal Note:

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Poem

In the fall of the year leaves arrayed in copper tones 
crunched underfoot,  the crisp air collided
with the inner heat of her face.

The metal cart grew heavy as she smiled up at the trees,
the air, and the faces of the passing Automobile Riders.
She laughed aloud as the squeal of brakes
and the smell of burning rubber approached a changing light.
"Hurry up to wait!" she shouted.

With the walk light  she crossed,
turning to pull the cart over the opposite curb.
The sidewalk grate beckoned her tired feet home.

She thought of a world walking ...
when horse power meant trotting feet and flowing mane,
when bells hung from wooden carts jingled down dirt roads
and greetings were called to muffled figures passed.
When the air was fresh with sweet smells from apple orchards or bread baking,
while the sound of birds claimed ones' attention
in between the silence of the day.

Now, picking through the treasures of her cart,
she chuckled, speaking to the warm air
rising from the grate, "Wonder who lost these fine woolen mittens?
and looky here, someone dropped a whole bag of bagels!"
Perhaps they had too many things to carry ...
too many things in the fall of the year
as the leaves dried away.

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