a Sunday downtown, a bar worker bringing out umbrellas to the sidewalk

the green fire truck with its outward strobe

walking towards the creek park

with the waterfall and pool

the man who wears shorts in all seasons is up ahead

he dutifully waits for the library to open

only to seem like he’s passing through it

down the slate stairs

the stream sound is in the branches drying leaves

the noon light has the color of evening

and there are crickets

the broad leaves fall like loose-leaf paper

the power line shadows dip in deep radials

across the lane

the narrow ones spin like a silver lure

the blue green lichen growing with clover, moss, leaf fragments, and roots, on the stone wall beside me

cars energize the leaves behind them

pulling them in their wake

for a little while

I like this stretch

there’s something comforting about the blonde fence

and its carved wooden spires that repeat every four steps or so

red grape colored leaves in a beam

I am on the bench

near the waterfall and the pool