There are very few things

that match the changing color

of the leaves:

hot apple cider

on late cool afternoons

or diving under fallen leaves

and making angel wings;

rolling down grassy hills

and then trying to stand up

before dizzily falling down

as the sky shifts above;

throwing objects up high

to knock down the perfect apple

that is bruised on the other side;

digging into the plate

with parents going bonkers

and making contact for a hit

in between second and third;

driving out to a peak

to witness a West Coast sunset

that leaves colors and sparkles

on the houses and the sea;

sharing a hot chocolate

in a small cafe

with good conversation

about the purpose of art;

reading Rilke or Bukowski

alone in an apartment

on a rainy afternoon;

walking through South Berkeley

to the Ashby Flea Market

with a radical old man

who can’t get enough bananas;

playing Memory by the fire

with kids that finally get it

and running through the open streets

to make this life a blur.