now in autumn again i walk the sunny paths

of the place where they healed me in summer.

warm fingers of light,

trees and pond –

they play the organ a different place.

our disease is a colorful one. she’s merry,

she’s bright, she lives on the fringes, she lives

in the fingers of green reaching out from our city.

but lately she’s come in, drawn closer to our

markets and parties and gatherings halls and

now traders trade pictures of windings, merry and bright.