"Baa, baa, baaaaa" bleated Sally. "Life on the Renaud farm is blah, blah, blaaaah," she complained. "Nothing ever changes. Same sheep. Same hill. Same rocks... WHOOPS!"
The stone beneath Sally's
... [+]
Who can walk today
when leaves leapfrog across the boulevard
and swirl recklessly round each passing car?
My feet dance across the sidewalk,
exploring invisible hopscotch trails
like errant children,
crunching gutter drifts
in explosions of sap-dried
skeletons of summer.
Can't you feel it,
the racing pulse of October?