Morning Walk

Photo courtesy of Jan Stroud

I go to the same German bakery every morning, eager to sit and sip and munch.  I chat with those I know and I know quite a few.  All the ladies behind the counter and the regulars who flow past.  We speak.  Shake hands.  Trade smiles. Comment on the weather.  I ask how they’re feeling and if I know their children, I ask about them.

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Then I walk home.  Some days it’s a pleasure, but not always.  The bluster of winter, or the hot days of August take their toll on pleasure. But, no matter the morning, I like my stroll private and quiet.  Some like a musical accompaniment, ears with plugs, thoughts blocked out.  I’m not one of those.

Morning Walk

Nostrils moist like morning dew,

The cheeks so rosy, scarf askew,

Lips that quiver when I speak

Through tall forest on I trek.

Past still lakes, reflecting all 

In glassy water, trees so tall

They seem so still and quiet too

Painted on the water’s view.

Up and down the hills alone

Lost in thought, I wander on

Until I’m startled by the sound

Of paws that race on rocky ground.

Come here, calls the man to dog

We trade smiles and then they’re gone.

Lost are all the rhymes I made

Gone the prose my mind displayed.

But, no matter, not forlorn

I’ve watched a new day being born.

I’m content, the sun so bright

Uncovered from the dark of night.

Photo courtesy of Jan Stroud