A Morning On Appaloosa Lake

Cold autumn breeze against my face
I listen to the wind rustle through the trees,
watching as the leaves fall, sometimes one by one,
but more often like a dry rain of faded color.

Three birds sit perched on one side of the feeder,
yellow breasted, small and delicate.
Almost close enough to touch,
they pick hungrily at the seed.

My daughter stands at the edge of the lake,
fishing pole in hand, chattering her own sing song tune.
Perhaps -I think to tell her - if she is quiet enough,
she may catch a fish. But she is happy in her noise
and in her efforts.
And who am I to tell her why the fish won’t bite?
My way is not the only way.

She calls for me to join her
and with camera in hand in case she manages a catch, I go.
My job to snap the pictures,
save the memories
and transcribe the events.