From: Reflections from the Other Side of the Silvered Glass
Overcast autumn, some hours past noon,
the wind heads for nightfall,
but first,
to toss the leaves,
multicolored vestiges of chlorophyll
havens,
and my now straw hair.
This nature calls to me,
as if to ask for solemn remembrance,
that summer is now gone,
and we had better collect fruits and
vegetables
at roadside stands
to party with apple drained cider,
and pumpkin light brown pie,
as if to celebrate
the approach of car stuck parking lots,
and snow hemmed streets.
When celebration ends,
I find myself walking alone,
collar high,
comfortably solemn.
