The Trip's The Thing. Poem by dave lessard

The wind is cold and biting
but the trails are so inviting
I shut off the t.v. talk
and took my canine for a walk;
The clouds were dark and scattered
but I felt it didn't matter
the sun played peek-a-boo
and hopped-scotched in the blue
The darkened skies did flow
with the subtle hints of snow
as we strolled along the trail
and felt the drops of hail;
such dramatic weather
from which I gather pleasure
the season's changing hues
the break from mundane blues;
I heard from nature's song
that never steered me wrong
the legacy of memory
that always was a boon to me;
It's not the destination
but the trip,
on the ground
or on a ship,
It never mattered
where I went,
but that the time there
was well spent.