“Such a pretty day”—
complimenting those in charge
of the acutely blue sky
and end-of-summer leaves
that have not yet begun to turn,

though some have fallen here
and there, a sign of what’s to come.
Perhaps, like the squirrels, I’m storing
up this ideal walking weather to sustain
me through the inevitable unpleasantness.

“Nice job,” I tell the trees.
“Looking good,” I say to the grass
still sporting its springy green,
as if nature needs the admiration from
this strolling rah-rah to do what it does.

I don’t have to travel far to see loveliness,
I remind myself when plans to venture
further afield get canceled. I have only
to lace up my shoes and head out
the door into my little neighborhood.

“Beautiful,” I say to no one and everyone
as my feet traipse familiar ground,
some of the prettiest stretches they’ve
ever strolled—

the rest of me walking wide eyed,
always, in wonder.