Somewhere not very far away at all,

lone tree not frightened; autumn’s calligraphed

display wrings proscriptive wrongs, treats Mommy’s

clotted mood to orchard’s upstate witchcraft,

story of woodsmoke on the breeze. Putt-putt 

city shunned, rows of rain-cloud rentals dealt

for those of Baby’s toes and braided trees. 

Sure beats Daddy’s big idea, to’ve spent

his day off indoors, pickled, slapping “snooze”.

One does choose but doesn't so much pick one

as twist it. Apple choosing. Fill prepaid

bag to splitting seam then stop for ice cream 

and head home; sun sags, stem’s twisting. Backseat,

Daughter’s listing, eyes shut but’s listening.