recalling hemingway two sundays ago

on a rainy day
we made our way to the hemingway house
cassie with her pretty pink collar was with us
we made a couple of wrong turns before we found our way
as we walked
we passed the hemingway museum
it was closed
we passed the hemingway hotel
and bistro
we walked
i looked up and saw the overcast sky
through autumn leaves strung by branches
of trees that lined the streets
hemingway roamed about
as a kid
i looked down
and saw my feet
shuffling by
the golden brown fallen ones
that have chosen their spot
after the drift from above
the pavement is damp
so is the air
my heart
i look ahead
and see him waving
he's found the hemingway place
i follow
but first a shot of the pretty yellow house
that stands not too far across
i hurry along to the birthplace
cassie goes before us
we paced the porch
and peered through the glass doors
and imagined
a life
a mirror captures us
and brings us inside
we laughed at how smart we are
art suggests a shot of me, my journal
on the hemingway porch
i dig for my moleskine
and sat
maybe like hemingway did
but mine was a pen from another era
words from another season
i'd love a conversation
with hemingway
but it's just a photo for now
we interact with the hemingway house instead
our discourse has taken place
between pages
i'm content
as i write a staged entry
for art's picture
my words
begin with
oct second
sunday
530pm
on the front porch
of hemingway's birthplace
it has just rained
and the roads are still wet
and the raindrops still trickling from the branches
it's cool and breezy
it ends
i state the obvious
but it won't be so
when i leave
this sunday brought me my many firsts
an evening with hemingway
then a seat behind the wheels
not long before
an unexpected dinner
with fresh garden herbs
inmy honor
he tells me later
dinner warms more than my stomach
we drive back to the city
i'm mixed about my departure
which way is home
which way is home
i find myself echoing
his words
we're all on the same journey
that's all that matters
in my walk to hemingway's