Now the trees are filled
with birds who understand change—
in flocks they prepare.

Asterisk mushrooms
like white stars broken open
on the forest floor.

Yellow grasses glow
against a navy blue shed,
we walk—ecstatic.

A brown-eyed susan—
seedhead like a planet in
a green universe.

Taking the deer path,
deep in the goldenrod field,
trees, arms full of leaves.

Winter stars gather
in the late October sky—
I have to thank them.

Milkweed for James Wright—
revealing delicacy
from a clamped hard shell.

Companion branches—
fall trees like calligraphy,
home to everything.

Rosehips line the path,
lake, steely gray like the sky,
birds gather and drum.

Complicated dreams,
sleeping with windows open,
while autumn moves in.

Only chickadees
make a sound at the lake's edge—
the pressure of peace.

Sun across the marsh,
my dog and I, in frosty air,
feel it looks like hope.

Sitting in the sky,
soft rising October moon,
pink against pink sky.

The gifts of the earth,
what can I give in return
but my attention.

I am the new bloom,
beautiful birch on the ground,
I embrace with love.

Green algae jewels
skimmed in through her lowered beak,
the only sound here.

Flying by moonlight,
the last crickets still singing,
geese leave in a V.

Frost coming this week,
the light has already changed—
finding the edges.

Everything is green
under the overstory—
even cricket song.

Fooled by October—
always going too far out,
for its false promise.