On the Porch

It’s cold on the porch
This Thanksgiving Day—
My breath makes a mist
Near the window…frame

Leaves in the street
Flying every which way—
Most of them are off
The trees, I see…today

Smoke from the Chimneys
It’s cold on the porch
This Thanksgiving Day—
I’m wondering…what

…what, my daughter
(her family) will eat
This Thanksgiving Day—.
My breath makes a…mist

(The wind has a voice.)

Someone laughing—
The echo from up the street
In back of me I think,
I’m wondering…who?

(Surprised, almost shocked!!)

It’s my grandson, his mother
(they see me writing this down);
On the other side of the street:
He’s grown quite tall.

He walks high and lean,
With his mother…rushing
(they live down the block)
He looked at me…said (?)

Something; she looked
Said nothing—at all
Went on their way as if
I didn’t exist…!

(It’s just the way it is.)

I wonder who they will thank
This Thanksgiving Day—?
For me, I thank the Lord
For this moment…and the

Turkey!... (at Jim and Julie’s)

(Thanksgiving Day, 2005: 12:31 PM)

#931 11/24/2005 12:38 PM

Note: It’s a funny thing, when one wishes to simply follow his senses they may find more than they bargained for; and this morning I was looking out my window, and I sensed I wanted to go out on the porch, and it was brisk, and I walked back into the house, and my wife was getting ready to go to dinner in Stillwater, a city 23-miles away, and then I grabbed a pen and paper and started writing about the beauty as I saw from the porch, the beauty of nothing but a brisk day, early afternoon; a simply day’s coldness, it was gripping on my porch, and then came my estranged daughter walking down the street, and my grandson I’ve not seen for so very long. I guess just seeing them is a nice Thanksgiving gift, we don’t need to have the whole bowl of soup to enjoy the flavor, now do we.