Blue Line Reverie
Leona Choy
Crispy,
frosty mornings cycle again
in a season
of reflection, pensive nostalgia
granting me
permission
to stroll the
back roads of my mind
while wading
ankle-deep in the paint-splashed carpet
kicking up
waves of oak and hickory leaves
inhaling the
musty mulch beneath my feet
while
munching the wet crunch
and tart
taste of a freshly picked Jonathan.
Here I can
smell peace, forget schedules
concentrate
on important things
like
scampering squirrels
scurrying to
stash acorns for winter larder.
I filter out
all but the traffic noise
of
wing-flapping, honking geese
heading South
in the fast lane
while I take
the exit ramp
to a blue
line country lane
deliberately
dragging my feet
trying to
slow down my speeding life
that always
seems to be
running a
marathon
ahead of me.
ahead of me.
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