Fall waited all night for me,
and yelled “surprise,”
when I finally opened the door
and stepped out into the
bright, clear, bellwether day,
in which the sun, that old magician,
burned his fire with no heat.
 
Later, crossing the bridge
on the way to work,
the sun still looked cold enough to touch
above the corrugated Mississippi,
combining commerce and art
into a living diorama,
laid out beneath me like a postcard scene.

But by noon
a couple of logs
had been thrown on the fire,
softening the chill in its brilliant glow.
 
After work,
I sat on the levee sipping a brew
and watching the orb drop beneath the rim
like a curtain coming down
on the greatest free show on earth.

But at night,
when I pulled into my drive,
a single star
twinkled directly above my house,
like a blessing, and to the left,
the moon, diehard romantic,
bathed the neighborhood in silver light.

Which of the bedridden among us,
I could not help but wonder,
would not settle
for even one of these?
I, already blessed with good health,
had been given them all
in a single day.

This poem first appeared in Aries: a Journal of Creative Expression.
Used here with the author’s permission.