Yesterday, when Raven and I walked Spirit,
we tried to figure out our favorite season,
inspired by the magnificent colors
of the trees along the streets.
Summer was immediately dismissed.
The triple-digit temperatures
being a detriment to happiness
for post-menopausal women.
Although I do like summers
in the park by the Rogue
where a cool breeze sways
the canopies of old trees
and children swing in the playground.
I have a penchant for autumn.
I like how the park changes
and on its many surfaces displays,
like paint on a canvas,
the who
le spectrum of colorful, displaced leaves.
I walk the winding paths
and listen to the pine needles and leaves
crunching under my shoes
and I marvel at the artistic display
that nature recreates every season anew.
In the spring, there is the tentative greening
after the dormant long winter
that ends the starkness of bare branches,
where empty nests are exposed,
waiting to be populated again.
Reminiscing right now,
I realize I truly love all seasons,
I am just surprised
when they change.
Hiking Poet 