Distance

The main difference
between climate and weather
is how far you look.

By late October, shorter days
and lower temperatures
have punctuated the city

with shades of tinted leaves,
each ruffled flare a pause
in the world’s paragraphs.

My dog inspects the changes
and rolls on the ground
to carry their smells with us.

She sleeps more these days,
her fur is whiter, and her steps
have stiffened and slowed,

but she keeps living in the moment,
tracking scents without knowing
where animals are going.

We both observe short-term variations
like airy sunlight after heavy rain.
It’s harder for us to see long-term averages,

like the timing of autumn’s arrival
and whether the season is drier, shorter,
or more unstable than it was years ago.

They say our mental states are influenced
by where and how we focus our attention.
Fret excessively about the past or the future

and you’ll overlook the quiet hues nearby.
Focus too much on what’s immediate
and you won’t reflect on what you’ve learned

or the far-off impacts of your actions.
I try searching for small wonders
while also being mindful

of what’s happening in the distance,
the undercurrents of a warming planet
and an aging friend, surfacing

like a tree’s switch to bright rust.
My mind tends to calm down
when I notice the horizon

or marvel at my golden dog,
the way she wanders through
these deciduous days.