Oak trees stand sentinel on both sides of us

As we walk down our country road.

Cows stare with a look of mistrust.

The dog prompts their foreboding,

But in them she displays no interest.

 

I come across a noisy tree.

Wary inspection discloses a deep, dark fissure

That hums and thrums with intrigue.

Alas, it’s a home for diligent bees;

I don’t bother them, and they don’t bother me.

 

Litter is scattered here and there: bottles, cans,

Plastic, and paper—indifferently tossed by intruders

Who unknowingly pass on their way to extinction.

I castigate the dumpers with unkind thoughts

For foisting their mess on my grandchildren’s planet.

 

Dead trees have fallen, dignity be damned.

Once mighty and strong, they lie pushed aside

Now reduced to kindling. Thorny vines that once hugged

The giants, struggle to find new purchase

On the young, designated replacements.

 

We keep moving on, Penny and me,

Her with her nose to the ground, and

I in reverie. It’s my health again

That captures my thoughts: that pain

In my hip, that burn in my ankle.

 

But, I’m walking, I think; I’m up and about.

I’m headed toward something, and then I’ll go back.

I got dressed today in my usual style. Some would say no style, but here’s what I have to say about that. I’m one of those people who think you can never have too many black turtlenecks. I love black clothing, charcoal clothing, pale gray clothing, and white (no beige) clothing. I don’t like prints—flowers, geometric designs, or really any designs. I will wear polka dots and sometimes muted plaid, but that’s about as far as I’m willing to go. Today I wore my black yoga pants, a sleeveless black turtleneck and my consignment store purchase—a pearl gray, Talbot’s top that could have been a tent, although a very soft one. Boring, right? Okay, here’s why. I don’t really care if people do or don’t admire my outfit. I want them to look at me—at my face, in my eyes, at my smile. I want to be seen and known, and the only way that can happen is if you look at my face. Read what you see there. Nothing shows off a face like a black turtleneck. (Especially when you want to cover up your neck. I, too, feel bad about my neck, just like Nora Ephron did. It got old faster than I did. But even when it was young and supple, I still wore turtlenecks, so there’s that.) To be fair, black and gray look much better on me now that my hair is more or less silver with some gray, but I wore it even when my hair was dark brown. I might be lazy; maybe that’s why I don’t bother with “outfits” and just stick with tops and pants, but with my preferred color scheme I never have to wonder if they match. Am I exaggerating? Of course. I have jeans. And I have solid colored tops in jewel tones. But my go-to is black and gray. And my reasoning? I’m sticking with my story: look at me, not my clothes.