A cool morning in mid August
has the quietude that follows a rain storm
except for the distant white noise of highway traffic.
There is no breeze, the air is filled with a light mist
so that everything I see
resembles a faded photograph.
My mind is empty in the early morning stillness.
No wildlife is visible, only the wet lawns
and the trees against a dull slate blue sky.
A few cirrocumulus clouds
that look as muddled as my mind
hang in confusion above me.
I continue and pass a basketball and boulder,
both discarded by the road, maybe reminiscing
on exciting adventures from their pasts.
The only scent in the air is that of
fresh laundry from a darkened home.
I hear a lone cardinal chit a warning, “Go back!”
Across the road, I pass another walker
and we solemnly give each other
a silent cursory wave.
Around the corner, I am suddenly blinded
by the blazing frying pan of the rising sun
and I turn back toward the coolness behind me.
A bird flies over racing for cover.
From a nearby tree, invisible crows
caw their harsh laughs.
I pass prairie onion flowers that lean listlessly.
Further on, rose mallow flowers are still
wrapped up in dreams, awaiting the sun.
I slowly and unsteadily trudge
toward a growing ocean of traffic
before turning back toward the peace of home.
