A Late Walk

Robert Frost

When I go up through the mowing field,
     The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
     Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
     The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
     Is sadder than any words.

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
     But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
     Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth
     By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
     To carry again to you.

The boy comes through my door. I am just up, at my computer. He is requesting me to please bring his mother a cup of coffee as she must get up and take him to school. The coffee, fresh brewed, is available and I am willing. He reports that he has gotten out of the wrong side of the bed this morning. But, cheerfully adds, that he went back to bed and got out on the right side. I make him a pancake. He gets out the door with his mother, on time. So far, all year, on time. Today I want to walk. I need to be in the gorgeous meadow with wildflowers and warm air. Sun, clouds, sun. The river under the trestle bridge reflects the watercolors. I have just finished watching the series, Shogun, on Hulu, that was highly rewarded at the Emmy’s. Well deserved. I was captivated and enthralled. Mostly, I walked in the quiet birdsong this morning. But I have also found a podcast made by the series and it’s fascinating to hear from the artists/writers/actors involved in the making of this epic of Japanese history. Today I also started packing for a trip Thursday to the Power of Words Conference in Kansas City where I will present a workshop and be with new and old writing friends. It’s my 8th or 9th year going. I will have time to write. Also, I printed three scripts of my new play for my first read tomorrow, a private one, with the actor who inspired me to write it, Liz Rose, and the actor who inspires me since birth, Franci DuMar.