August will give way,
everything at its peak
will start to fall down.

Standing under sun,
she leans on her walking stick,
her lambs crunch the grass.

Warm November day,
all the insect songs are gone,
snowbirds just arrived.

Snowbirds in and out
of the yellow autumn field,
their chatter comes first.

Big October skies
breaking apart every day,
and rearranging.

We follow deer prints,
my dog’s nose fits perfectly
in each searching step.