A Long Walk to Autumn

Light floods the valleys by Pontresina,
slowly overturning the shadows,
driving them into scattered patches
beneath the trees, into low ravines
where the sun has yet to find them.

The massive rock,
a geological matrix,
how you wear the fragile woods
like a blanket woven
in autumn colors,
yellow, orange, the lingering green,
how small we are walking here below.
How small Dartmouth became,
a model of buildings and lawns,
of men and women
all pretty in their time,
and here life in all its
raging complexity,
the massive rock, like men and women,
weathering slowly,
without knowing what
the years have made of them.

My light tan skin merges
with the yellowing woods,
a cold breeze funnels through the valley,
a place for dogs and their companions,
young hounds left wild to run and play,
for walkers, bikers, runners,
a mother and her child,
a young Italian family
and their white poodle,
couples speaking in hushed tones,
others telling of people they know,
the sound of gravel underfoot
as we go,
pushing ever forward
beneath October's cooler sun,
not yet twelve noon,
the light itself cooled
by streams of mountain air.

I look around.

Where do they come from?
Do they sweep across the peaks
and descend into the valley,
carrying something of the heights
we cannot see?

Where will they go—

Farther along the valley,
Silvaplana offers no clue,
neither does a yellowing birch.

They remain silent.

Pontresina, Switzerland
October 17, 2026