Autumn leaves flutter to the ground,
On the lake sunshine dances all around.
The path meanders as do I,
But many others go rushing by.
Eyes fixated on their phones,
Music fills their ears.
Loss of actual communication,
Is a real fear.
A weather-worn bench beckons me,
I take a seat and remove my hat.
No one stops to say hello,
Or sit and have a chat.
I glance up at the brick church steeple,
And the bell tolls.