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Autumn Leaves
volume 7 number 6
Autumn Leaves volume 7 number 6 |
At dawn I carry the flag to its standard
(a piece of
rebar hammered into ridgetop soil)
and unfurl it — not so much a
political statement,
as how the east wind takes fabric from dawn,
and
waves it toward the sun
that's just now rising eye-level through pines.
And then I walk back to begin my day: make coffee,
feed
the dogs. Later I'll walk out
under the noonday sun, not daring to look
it
in the eye as it stares me down
to a squat black shadow.
At last, afternoon lengthens
to a shadow so much longer
than myself,
measuring earth before it merges into the dark
that's all I
know of night.
