You cannot be the cause of the problem
and seek reward for being its solution.

this orange turd will never soar…

fools know not how to solve
moon dust equations — Elites!, they cry.
these misguided “patriots” cannot exclaim
both joy & hatred, community & vitriol.

it does not compute!!

how do they think we’ll ever get
to where it is we want to go? have they
given any thought, any consideration
to our happily ever after?

People!!

It has to be a collective ‘our’,
a collective ‘ever after’.

Why can’t — or won’t — they see that?

Serrated leaves of brethren black-cherry trees
wave to me outside our sunroom windows.
Empty wire-mesh feeders sway
in the muggy almost-autumn breeze.

Sluglike, I cross to the mailbox,
COVID-gloves in hand.
Wasted effort: Political flyers
for a candidate I’d never, ever vote for.

Didn’t I read somewhere
that September’s segue to fall
dictates longer sleeves,
cooler nights, solid shoes?

My sugar-self craves a hot cuppa chai
but not when The Weather Channel
tells me what I already know — we’re dying here
in this ninety-degree muck, reprieve not yet our due.

Predictably, others will soon
protest winter’s snowfall, her howling winds,
those frigid blasts of icy, northern air.

                       But I won’t…

We’d be looking forward to another September sojourn in Colorado right about now but, well, better not to linger on what might have been…

So.

Next year, fall of 2021, we’re hoping

    nothing

will prevent us from spending another week or so out there again. (COVID — I’m talking to YOU…) In the meantime, YouTube hiking videos are a glorious, if imperfect, way to celebrate the tangible beauty and mystique of the Rocky Mountains.

We continue to rack up “Ooh, let’s do THIS trail!” potential hikes for our next visit.

Here’s a video we enjoyed over lunch today. Ypsilon Mountain is one of my favorites although we’ve never hiked it, just enjoyed it from a distance. I took this photo in September 2017. A glorious peak!!

Nick & Barb Sangetta Hike to the Summit of Ypsilon Mountain

enthusiasms in decline
or already dead

motivations lacking
or never-were

faltering footprints of self-pity
give way to immobilization

boot straps — broken nubs…

curled up, knees to forehead
sunken cheeks, cool to the touch
eyes a-glaze…
covers in a heap, empty side of the room
noon whistles blasts
the requisite three and a half minutes

yes, covid is a thing
but, girl, you’ve got to
pull yourself together