Eventually, I said goodbye to the cat and moved on.
Nearer my leafy destination, I came upon a kiosk in a yard. It contained copies of a poem and thinking it was the work of the homeowner, I took a sheaf to read. I was wrong about the author. The piece was by E. E. Cummings. He can be devilishly clever with words. Even the mention of his name will raise a smile. But this poem was of a different sort, though still joyous and capable curling my lips into a bow. A perfect poem for a perfect day.
I will wade out
till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
with closed eyes… (from “I Will Wade Out” by E.E. Cummings)