If Someone Took the Perfect Picture of Me- 1st Writing Club Meeting
I think I am a little younger here,
standing on this wooded path where
the autumn colors- gold, red, orange-
stretch behind me into the shadows.
I am alone between the splashes
of sunlight that break through the canopy
and create their mosaic on the grey-tan
floor on which I am standing.
My guess is I am dressed in layers-
faded blue jeans, grey t-shirt, red henley,
my old threadbare olive drab jacket.
My hiking boots, stained and faded,
kick up the dust as I walk, so I suppose
I am also carrying a hiking stick-
something to make my next steps easier.
I see myself wiping the sweat off my face
with the red bandana wrapped around my wrist
as I look up to see a bard owl take flight
just as the photo is snapped. You find this
hidden in the pages of an old copy
of The Odyssey, and so you remember me.
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