Near Florence, September 2017

I like walking with the wind at my back,
but better almost always, is to face the breeze,
cheeks reddening with the contact of icy fingers
of early winter and notions of racing back to summer
trails above the beaches of the coast. Planning.
There is surely some new way to combine carrots,
potatoes, and mushrooms to accompany the elegance
of B♭ evening greys sharpening into the winter white
of scaleless skies and endlessly cloudy nights . . .