My Walk to the Store

The market where I shop is small and old,
and never crowded early in the day.
I walk there first-thing, when the air’s still cold:
unmasked en route in solitude’s my way.
But neither Internet nor instinct told
me they’d be closed to lengthen holiday.
I ventured and returned with empty pack,
but savored rain-washed air outbound and back.

(Ottava Rima)

This entry was posted in Coronaverse, Neighborhood, Poetry, Weather and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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