Each morning

begins a little slower

than the last.


I wander outside,


which is my custom.

Orion’s Belt hangs above me,


in no hurry to head west.


The sun takes its time rising,

pacing itself for the long journey south.


As the day slowly heats up

the smell of sage and leaves

fills the air

and I make my way around –

setting things in order

for the coming cold.

And the geese,

sure signs of change…

I hear them calling

far to the east, near the sunrise


I stand still,

struck quite dumb

as they move west over my head


their wings stirring up the atmosphere above me


They’re hurrying,

always hurrying

to some important destination.