a walk by our creek

after Thanksgiving dinner —

the ice just starting

Black Friday —

moving aside to let

an ambulance scream by

even in the dark

the geese calling out

as they fly over

I spread my fingers

wide to catch a falling leaf

but it slides on through

rainsong on the roof

and then the answering growl

of the basement pump

one feather —

slowing down the day with

its iridescence

heat inside and out —

a cup of hot chocolate

after the bonfire

just enough

to see the dark shapes of trees —

November moonlight

wheelie practice —

my job is telling him

how much air he gets