Outside the days are beautiful.
Some held down by moist grey mists.
Others creeping up on me until
I happen to glance up, then find I am unable to
Move under the onslaught of
Unbroken blue above me,
Interrupted by the shouts of
Red and gold.
All of it seems too much to take.
I feel frozen. It’s been awhile. Since
The tomato plants blossomed, that’s
When I sputtered to a stop. I rusted
Still into the landscape.
My mind blank.
I lay down on the grass and watch the
Leaves head down to their end, their
Veins full at first, then taken
Hard and crumbling to the
Dark place under the pine arms
To break down. I watch a fat fly get slower and
Slower. On Saturday the color peak
Hit, I saw. I sped on 95
Gawking as a wild child and wondering:
Does any day or moment or
Second become more than this?
But now, today, the trees still
Keep their color but they
Regret it. They narrow.
The middle ground
Brown is coming and
Wet slapping winds and the safety of
Winter is not