Now that the leaves have fallen from the cottonwoods and ash,
I can see clear down the face of the Front Range.
Sleeping Indian mountain with a mesa just beyond, the merest tip of Pike’s Peak,and long, wide stretches of prairie.

Those long wide stretches of prairie help me breathe… deep stretching breaths that reach into my fingers, my toes, my old, aching back.

I am sick today.

Shingles

Ghastly pox.

Blisters and bumps, oozing, crusty bits

down my neck, over my right shoulder, across my chest.

There is a deep ache behind the ooze, sharp on its arrival.

The drugs are good, healing the nerves, urging me to sleep,

so, I shall sleep off this plague, like all others,

and shall rise again to fight (or something) another day.

***  get the vaccine…you do NOT want this…