The Fox at Dawn


9.1.19 Morning coffee by the golf course at The Williamsburg Inn
September 1, 2019, 9:40 am
Filed under: Art of the Day, Uncategorized, Writing | Tags: , ,



At dawn I watch all 
the little generals muster 
for the morning’s battle.
 
The fleet of silent carts 
line up under the pines, 
loaded with their arsenals.
 
The solemn marshals 
(no enlisted on this hallowed ground)
are dressed in battle uniform:
 
Collared cotton shirt,
short sleeve,
solid pastel,
a loose but tailored cut
designed to cover
prosperous bellies
and tuck neatly
into khaki shorts
belted with monogram
leather or needlepoint,
topped with visor, ball cap
or the occasional 
Havana fedora 
of the five star veteran among them.
 
“My ball will go in the hole, gentlemen,
however far away it appears,
despite the trap of sand, water or bunker.
I have the measured strength
and long vision, 
the mental steel
and mighty club
to do it.
Mark my words gentlemen,
my ball will penetrate the hole
long before yours.”
 
Let the generals play. 
Perhaps the privates,
lieutenants, sergeants, 
and captains will be left
in peace for a time.
Let the generals play.
It is a beautiful day.
 
 
 
 

Suspicion of wealth is a default setting of mine, yet here I am enjoying immensely what immense wealth has created and afforded- The Williamsburg Inn, Colonial Williamsburg, William and Mary. Eternal thanks to my sister for this glorious weekend together, my first real vacation in years. Wealth can be like the Grandmother Tree in the forest- the biggest and grandest tree that disperses its amassed treasure of nutrients into the roots of everything around it as it slowly declines and passes away.


3 Comments so far
Leave a comment

I love reading your thoughts, Loren, you’re a beautifully poetic writer xo, Gita

Comment by Gita Donovan

Gita!! How lovely to hear from you! Thank you for your kind words my friend.

Comment by Loren Crawford

Hope this poem goes into a book you will someday publish. Thank you for sharing this, my dear talented friend. ♥️

Comment by Anne Stanley Hoffman




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