So we came to the end of our stay in the East

and our RV, that six-wheeled beast,

was itching to drive from coast to coast

for what seemed like the hundredth time, almost.

We did some more hiking on nature trails,

spotting feathers, fins and scales.

And we took an afternoon to spend

with Andrew, another local friend.

(As one might gather from his demeanor,

he’s another devoted Halloweener.)

But mostly we spent time with our son,

and getting even more downsizing done.

All sorts of mementos and bric-a-brac

went to a new home or into a sack.

We shook our heads and had some laughs

over stacks and stacks of photographs

while feeding them into a scanner

to be stored in a digital manner

along with a plethora of papers

all to be consigned like vapors

to the cloud — the most suitable form,

since backpack living is now our norm.

One thing, however, we couldn’t lose,

was Dennis’s very first pair of shoes,

seven decades old. They were his mother’s

who kept them with his sister’s and brothers’

and since she passed, he’s kept them too.

Getting rid of them wouldn’t do.

(Who would have thought those tiny feet

from a Southern farm someday would beat

pathways all over the nation, then later

other countries, and stand on the equator?)

Our son has been indulgent enough

to be the guardian of some of our stuff,

behind a table or other odd spot

without complaining about it a lot.

At last, we said our goodbyes and departed

Providence in our RV, and started

one last vehicular sashay

across the heart of the U.S.A.

5/25-29/2023