Every evening after dinner
I walk the tree-lined side street
That leads from my house
I don’t begin the walk at a specific time
Tonight first,
I washed the dishes
Then I started out
With nothing in mind
Just middle-age and gratefulness
And what to do next
Trees and worries and birds and plans
Until the houses ended
And the ball-field began
And like the other evenings
The sky grew big
No houses or trees to block it
The giant sky
One great, low cloud
And below…the sharp, round sun
Burning orange
Then setting behind distant trees
The persons driving cars
East on Ninth
–They missed it
Instead they looked at me
The guy standing at the end of West Broadway
Facing the sun and smiling
In khaki pants and a white undershirt
Like he hadn’t bothered to change
From work
Jim's Writing 