I go, slowly to walk down.
The heat, reflects and gleams
Straight through the green.
Cross, to wait for the red,
Continued to the threes.
Three together: but first one
Dante—such a sweet one.
Goofy smile slips to the side,
Quick hand reveals a surprise
Small, yet beautiful and wild to find
On the daily tread we demise.
Now two: she joins
Tatiana—bold but withdrawn
Long brown strands, tied deftly
Not frequently brushed but often arrayed
Bright pink and wildly intended.
The third: older but still young
Kirk—defined by the church
Compatriot who joins,
And occasionally overtakes.
Who engages in joy
With the littles and with me.
Six weeks of treks,
Sometimes three, sometimes six
Hazy days in the heat
Of the southwest
Very dearly missed.