Is This the Same Road

Is this the same road?
Lone pine cone lies on gravel.
Am I the same man?









It's blue and white now;
Chicory and Queen Anne's lace
Light up gray morning.

Lighting up the field
Goldenrod marks summer's end.
The stream still babbles.

How could I worry
That this walk might prove too much
When it's just enough?

Black eyed Susan clump
Near a bright bed of white blooms
Both still holding on.

By side of road--
White flowers I never saw
Are starting to wilt.

Unchanging puddle
Still reflecting the same trees
Filled by countless rains.









White, blue and orange--
Three denizens of the fall,
Here at August's end.