Walking, Early December Florida Morning

Walking, Early December Florida Morning

by Robin Shwedo

©: Robin Shwedo, 2013



Walking, early December Florida morning,

coolness trying to descend from northern climes,

I had wanted to still be running.

Life happens. Maybe soon, the running will resume.



Going cross country, down a dirt path that masquerades

as a country road,

dead-ending – but not – at someone's driveway.

A chain-link fence separates the house's property

from the dirt road in front,

the woods next to it on either side.

The road continues past the woods.

One can only go the full length –

a total of four blocks –

if on foot or horseback,

as the four red diamond-shaped signs blocking the path will attest.



This early December Florida morning,

a small flock of birds –

six wood storks, a snowy egret, a grey egret –

stand at the edge of the drainage ditch that runs alongside the dirt road.

A gated townhouse community is beyond.

Townhouses, ditch, dirt road, woods-house and property-woods.

As I walk, the flock of birds moves.

Grey egret walks away, eye on something in the ditch.

White egret runs, spreads wings, takes flight.

Only the wood storks remain somewhat together,

walking, spreading apart to let me through.

One brave one walks to my left, between fence and me.

He – she? – walks somewhat ahead,

like an aging denison

in a bathing suit in Boca,

skinny legs sticking out,

dusky rose feet and backwards knees,

carrying a plump white-clad body,

topped with a funny bathing cap.

The denison would call back home,

New York, probably,

saying on crackling long-distance lines

to an equally aging sister,

“Come down and visit. Boca is so nice, this time of year.”

The sister, mink-coated denison,

or maybe, if she's an animal lover, dressed in faux fur,

will say,

“Maybe next year, honey.

No, really, I don't mind the cold.”



The wood stork denison passes,

reconnects with the flock

just as the flock takes flight.



This was written the last week of December, 2013 after a morning walk. It is one of the poems in a growing collection titled Poetry for My Mother.