Poem: August 25, 2021

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.