Nimbly Pacing Uphill

There were we, of a perfect
blue-sky autumn day, out in
the woods fragrant with the
changing season, breeze ruffling
dry leaves, the orb of the sun
sending brilliant fingers of light
through the thinning canopy,
marvelling at the changeable
moodiness of Nature.

There were we, in our grey
haired dotage, struggling uphill
on challenged legs. Beside us,
no swifter for their four legs,
our elderly little dogs as attuned
to the colourful rapture of the
day, certainly as we. An oriole
sang sweetly from a nearby
copse, and dragonflies lifted
over still-fresh purple asters.

For all matters in nature there
is a season and a reason. A
maxim abundantly clear, as a
trio of lovely, lithe young women
abloom with health, in the morning
of their lives, dressed as lightly
as we were tightly against cool
temperatures, passed us by.

There were they, smiling beatifically,
their long bare legs in perfect unison
as they glided in an ecstasy of
freedom and their youthful display
of dew-damp freshness. They greeted
our eyes as though we had ventured
upon woodland nymphs nimbly
pacing uphill; we on our way down.