The food they stored

We walked the dogs this morning.
The long walk we call it:
Where the path splits, go to the right,
Up and down the hills to the lake,
Then turn left. They know the way home.

Early spring. Our breathing
Wraps around our heads,
And we shuffle through
The crisp remains
Of last year’s autumn.

My favorite season, once.
I loved the slant of light, the cool smell of trees
Mixed with notes of books both old and new.