Soft silk bursting to float on chill Fall air,
Milkweed pods like cotton puffs release their aviators,
When the winds kick up and a hawk circles amid swirling white motes,
The sun breaks through the grey cloud fluff and mist,
A single beam onto the amber and straw prairie below,
Lancing through the center of a flotilla of Canada geese,
Lazing down a little Midwestern river,
Their follow-on mallard groupies quack and dive,
The world is slow and at peace.
Coffee mug in one hand and slow cigar in the other,
I smoke signal the sky along the walking path,
Watching toast-gold thistle crowns swaying in the breeze,
Ruling over rustling gentle bleached yellow grasses,
Yellow tiny butterflies flutter around the occasional regal monarch,
Tiny denizens daring the silvery spin of spiders' web,
Giant oak and walnut trees tower over the maple,
Red or yellow or orange or rust with sugar maples for company,
The thickets and the canopy full of bird chatter,
Flocking blackbird pit stop full of brown sparrow gossip,
The robins too good and cheery to participate,
My steps are slow and soaring easy over the path.
Feeling connected to the Earth I walk this path of peace.
By: Daniel A. Stafford