along a path winding…spreading…pebbles tossed…horse carriages saunter-by… a golden statue of our goddess..she was always a beauty…

watching kids atop dad’s shoulders…hands held…lovers kiss…runners running…to where…i do not know…a finish-line awaits…

here there is peace…to sit upon a bench…gazing at architectural fancies…old buildings…brownstones… character…character…age does that…

trees ring of gold…saphire…auburn..and ash…winter will come soon…another act in the year’s play… we take this in…we take this in…giving thanks…

to walk through Central Park West with you…children of November…as Coltrane blows and cinnamon tickles our throats…

this is home…this is home…