The Walk

After tea at the museum,
we walk across the mall.
Rain falls on our separate
umbrellas.

We walk as if walking
in a painting,
the near sky gray,
rain puddled,
wet leaves on the ground.

More leaves fall yellow,
wants and needs
left explicit and bare
like the shining tallow
of a candle.

Umbrellas drip.

The trip to the office
is a short one.
Our steps are slow.

In only a matter of weeks
we will walk in snow.