Goodbyes, Mostly, These Days

Why must it be
the most beautiful
the day we leave
for the last time,
autumn sunlight dappled just so,
never was it ladled
quite as deliciously.

The family of loons hardly seen all summer
now suddenly patrols the dock,
aloofly,
not wanting to seem
the least bit interested
in the ruckus.

The chipmunks will wonder,
peevishly,
where their nightly trove of peanuts has gone.
Grover the groundhog will sigh,
wearily,
at the prospect
of having to charm new owners yet again.
After countless nightly visits on the back deck
the male and female cardinal will look for us in vain
and decree their human companions
fickle at best.

Taking our leave,
the dirt road will unspool behind us, dustily,
interminably,
and we may miss a glimpse of the new fawn
who pops her head out from the brush,
curious,
wondering at someone leaving such a place
when all around her is golden.