the morning walk

the trees are of less interest
these days,

each branch known, each crest of wave
on the full pond
against fallen
trees.

the green stench of it all
awaiting new rain
to make
it clean.

the crisp air, a startling blue
between
branches, forever grey,

birches shedding a cream
colored bark,

but it's those who walk
that I see.
cameras in tow, in ones and twos,
a child
in hand, making three.

what brings them here
so early
in the day, lost in thoughts,

walking alone,
taking pictures of a bird
in flight.

what are they remembering,
who
have they lost, who
has strayed,

leaving them quiet in
this walk.