A Celebration

It’s quiet after the summer folk have left

and the leaf peepers, too, gone, returned to their homes,

the leaves now muted and fallen, dry and brittle, scattered,

and out walking, walking freely,

satisfying our souls, the dog and I

breathe in the Sunday’s silence broken

only by our own footsteps’ plodding,

the dirt road’s gravel-crunch under our feet,

and the rustle of the leaves, lightly blown,

while across the lake an eagle sings out, unseen,

his chattering song celebrating life amid life’s turmoil,

echoing in the still air of this late autumn ramble;

so I, too, celebrate life, celebrate myself,

in these words penned across a page torn out

for moments like this, moments to share

in verse, in celebration of all that is good,

all that is life, as it should be, celebrated.