Observations

I went for a walk today at 3:00pm.
The light was caramel.

I reached down to pluck a broken branch from the street.
It was full of crunchy, pea-green oak leaves.
I cusped one in my hand and squeezed, letting the crumbling delight my senses.

The street was alive with sounds:
An Army of men were shingling a small roof.
Adjacently three men re-framed the windows of another home.
Somewhere an open garage was dispelling pop music.

I passed by the gardens I loved so much in spring and summer.
I noted that they do not disappoint this Fall.
Their fiery orange orbs and scarlet dahlias were tall enough to shake my hand.

I almost didn't notice the quiet-tempered, many-colored dog who lives on the corner.
He was contentedly lying alert on the edge of the yard watching a family walk their two poodles.
With a smile, I decided to call him Joseph.
I always long to reach down and stroke his many-colored coat.
I dare not.
Not with my dog-biting magnet that seems hidden under my limbs.

I greeted the man who was mowing his grass.
I took in the sweet, earthly smell.

I bid the crooked pine tree hello and wondered how it got that way, anyway.

I lingered before going in.
I didn't want to miss a minute of this glorious September--all golden, crunchy, and warm.