So you go out for a walk to find the traffic scarce,
the air cool and fresh, the sky cloudy, the wind brisk
You notice, too, limbs swaying and light swinging with shadow
on the playground in the park
The running brook winds its way over stone, round rock,
between debris fallen from trees and hands
The clogs click-clack on pavement and crackle
through dry dead leaves; the heart expands
From thin portals in time and space the hush
howls
