EVERYWHERE this time of year when brown fields of cornstalks stand still and night brings a singing from the woods every tree carrying part of the chorus and gardens ache and wilt overready and tired walking and walking I think back to spring forward to winter it's not easy to keep my place on the path for the hardness that makes it is spread around the woods and the dead leaves crumbling and the weeds retired to their roots open new paths also the leaves giving up to drop early set new ways of sight under the trees and the track is now no one place all places equal and the times that brought us to this and the ones we approach come together days of sun and dry weather the steps to take through them opening everywhere
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