This morning the northwester is a blustery
declarative sentence replete with clausal gusts
and punctuated with rainy exclamations.
The golf course is a silent thought;
even omnipresent Canada geese have
opted not to declare their plaintive intent,
gone to shelter somewhere beyond
their utterance. Trees shake their leaves
like pompom quotation marks.
Those in subordinate servitude to dogs
have been taken out, thoroughly awakened
and returned safe to their warm homes.
Only my partner and I, who insist on our
fitness imperative, lean, two slashes into the rain
and follow our syntactical route home.