Gumboots

Oct 16 2011

Fine-grained, sun-drenched.

Beach sand

under bare feet,

which have toughened up

through half a summer.

I can still feel the heat,

silky softness

sinking in.

All ten toes

giddy with freedom.

Fall, though, is the most indelible.

The crunch of leaves

in crisp October,
the earthy smell.

A dry rustling, in the breeze;

and swept before a blow,

skirling, swirling

hurtling to leeward.

Then half-submerged,

a soggy reminder

of worse.

When it’s cold enough

and freshly covered with snow,

you break the perfect surface

with a squeaky rub,

felt, as much as heard.

No secrets, this time of year,

the tell-tale tracks

of your comings and goings.

Until the next inevitable storm

makes over

the world.

And after the annual thaw

gumboots on

you’re a kid once more,

striding through puddles

the slurping suck

of mud.

When a boot gets stuck

and you pull out, suddenly,

a sorry sock

dangling off.
In a mad dance

on one good leg,

accompanied

by tuneless expletives. 

But even then

I think of fall,

that luminous carpet of leaves,

the satisfying crunch

beneath.

Under a high transparent sky,

too blue

to believe.