Sep 24
Colors just happen in the fall.
Abundance of don’t-forget-to-touch-mes,
but calming now, no longer explosive.
Truth, beauty, decay.
Sumac works through orange
into its final reds.
Spent and pulling back, residue of bloom.
Quiet all summer, the chimney rose seizes the day.
Still just a scatter, it’s early days.
Weeds are flowers
you don’t have to cultivate.
Sometimes the best colors
aren’t hardly colors at all.
Sep 5
The color’s right, but
I’m not persuaded these can be crabby apples,
half the size of grapes.
White with yellow pollen curls, one shy bee.
White and golden pollen.
Pale butter yellow, minutes from finishing.
Halloween orange and pollen gold.
Softly spikey, opening for business.
Spiral down and out, dusted from the day’s work.
A table treat, just beyond my screen,
table treasure cut.
Meanwhile, in the grass, sign of summer’s end,
previews colors to come.
