Cycles #23

A small distant wooden pumpkin smiles at me,

and I realize that for another year,

I started late.

My small cat crawls from under the bed,

she knows what she wants,

so easy, and new.

Orange trees and cold air,

missing Pumpkin and Cammy,

my beautiful fuzzballs.

Digging in the water with a stick for a lost disc,

bopped on the head by an acorn,

it’s that easy.