|
| sunrise, throwing spears of pink and mauve on salt waves, on seagull feathers |
| small boy on a stick galloping around dark trees: do you chase windmills? |
| She hides under stalks left from October's harvest. I see her red coat. |
| crisp autumn yellow: leaves of the sugar maple, the old manuscript |
| sitting in darkness touching rocks, grass, each other lightly with fingers |
| silent afternoon the lake shadows reflecting on the maple bark |
| summer days return after the first autumn frost one more false prophet |
| autumn winds in willows chipmunks scamper, twittering in shifting sunlight |
| canoe gliding slow over sun dappled river floating maple leaves |
| slow cold rain against the window pane the ginger cat sleeps |
| deer running at dusk across abandoned cornfields: rifle's sharp report |
| under autumn leaves crisp apples, hickory nuts Mom's dandelion wine |
| standing together in the deserted garden flowers gone to seed |
| red squirrel running through red leaves; golden sun rays sparkle off rifle |
| the tiny winged seeds are blowing across the wall landing in your hair |
| playing hide and seek among trees with yellow leaves children with gold hats |
