I walked to the end of the driveway

That yellow tree begged. No - demanded.
And for that time, you of sinew, of audacity.
Like a pretty, petulant child.
Stole every morsel of me.

The hero dutifully captured.
I moved an inch and commenced.
A staccato of to and fro professional-like photography.
Glistening leaves already lousy with mud and death.
A brush of frost veneer saves them from certain obscurity.
Lucky two foot patch you are, that anyone saw you at all.

Next come the words, unplanned, unbidden.
A slip of verse, a clearing.
Hands breathless to jot, to cradle you.
To pore over and edit later.
15 minutes is a very long time.