A Sunny Sunday
The air is cold, the sun is warm;
In autumn, sometimes that’s the norm.
The river’s choppy; white caps break
As speed boats trail a frothy wake.
The sky is clear, just wisps of cloud,
The promenade devoid of crowd.
A spotted lanternfly alights,
A stomp preventing future flights.
The leaves, still green, sway in the breeze,
Not ready to abandon trees,
As dogs on leashes stop and sniff
Then circle back for one more whiff.
A sunny Sunday’s what I’ve got
To rest up from my Covid shot
And as I watch the ferries glide,
I’m grateful for a seat outside.
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