The degree drops in the tropics
The mist over the water hovers
The station billows the same clouds
Can I reach the place we both once knew?
Hidden well in both memories and time
Unadulterated precision
The taste of warmth
The smell of pine
Each walks on with their own passions
Acquainting others with small gifts
Knowledge of aspects that take too long to master
Yet like the conductor, pride is taken in a job done
In a timely fashion
The season replies, do haste
But try to take this small present with you
Open like the card given, and settled in
It won’t be long.
Copyright, 2010, Christopher Baird--all rights reserved.
Contact me for reprint/posting permission.
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