Goodbye, Friend Peter

Autumn rustling wind
Gently shakes the naked trees;
Wood chimes clack softly.

Bright sun is shining;
I answer a phone message:
Dear Peter has died.

There's always a hush
When someone special has died--
Soft clouds in the heart.

A strong gust of wind--
Mirrors in the stream dissolve
Into blind ripples.

First time since last Spring
I need to put on my gloves;
This wheel of seasons.

There, way up ahead,
A band of wild turkeys
Cross the divide.

Once abandoned house
Is abandoned once again--
Goodbye, friend Peter.

  The children don't play
On the swing or in the yard,
This hushed afternoon.

 

 A few large white flakes
Flow so gently to the ground
And then the flurry.