The air is cool and calm,
my breath lingers in little clouds,
caught in the soft glow of the streetlight,
A gentle Autumn evening,
far from Summer’s assault on the senses,
and still a ways from Winter’s brutal bearing,
The last of the light is fading,
the grey day slowly turning black,
the nights are coming sooner now,
The leaves have lost their luster,
all dry and brown and brittle,
scattering long the ground,
passing cars slowly pushing into piles,
on the side of the road,
I’m not alone of course,
the old pup padding along by my side,
panting and pawing at the ground,
in her own little world of sounds and scents,
She comes alive in the Fall,
the old girl is built for the cold,
with rough brown fur to keep the rain,
and snow at bay,
With hints of red in her coat that catch the light just so,
We wander around our little domain,
walking on streets we’ve traveled a thousand times,
a gentle breeze rustling the naked limbs above us,
On the way home I raise my collar up and tighten the jacket a little,
the cold is coming now; I feel it in my bones,
but I’ll go out again tomorrow,
because there’s no feeling quite like,
an evening walk in late Autumn air.
Like many people, Autumn is my favorite time. There’s something magical too it. I’ve often wished there was some way to stay in Fall in perpetuity. Alas, I supposed if it was like this everyday it was lose some of that magic.
I thought of this while walking my dog. Usually on our nightly walks I’m coming up with plots for the latest short story or mulling over some longer works.
But tonight, it was one of those perfect nights. It was probably the last nice day before the cold comes. And so I wondered around the neighborhood with my constant companion composing the poem.
This is pretty close to what I came up with. I had to hurry up and write it down when I got home.
I just hope my neighbors weren’t worried if they heard someone muttering to himself at night.