Someone asked me if I was obsessed with death.
He didn't say what he meant by obsessed.
I love this painting. Frida Kahlo's "Dream"
would be my answer. But, in the moment I
was tongue tied. Then the conversation turned,
as it does at dinners with people.
The wind is wild today and I'm waiting on a storm.
Bluster and blow-downs littering the back roads.
Power still on. It's fall. All kinds of rot -- peony
and mushroom. The dead snake. A tiny turtle carcass
along the shoulder of the road where I run.
The smells. Grapes ripen. The maple trees
are nearly past color to disappearance.
My favorite season.