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My wife and I walk every morning,
a mile or so–
it’s good for us old to walk in the cold,
or in the misty rain, it makes less the pain
that old age is wont to bring to bodies
which once burned bright with youth,
though now I wear braces on ankles,
braces on knees, and I walk slowly
with 2 canes, like an old skier,
sans snow, sans mountain.

We passed a tree whose leaves had
left behind summer’s green and now
fall slowly, carefully one by one
in their autumnal splendor.

My wife stopped me–
listen she said– but
I heard nothing—hush!,
stand still, she said,
and I tried hard to
hear the mystery….

Finally, I asked her, knowing my hearing
less than my wife’s (too many rock concerts
in my heedless youth), what we listen for?

She looked up at my old head, and smiled–
only she could hear the sound each leaf made
as it rippled the air in falling to the ground.

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