In a September Meadow
The oak trees drip with acorns, squirrels chatter in the canopy
In a meadow, I lay down and watch the clouds skitter
Across the sky, lens cloud to my left, high winds aloft
The ground is thick with arbutus leaves from last winter
That rustle from the dry August past letting me know
By sound where the dog is exploring close by, not straying
A soft warm breeze caresses my face, ruffling my hair
A haunting of past lovers, asking for nothing, I relinquish.
A hint of fir wistfully wafts in the air, moss dry and prickly
Underneath my back, yellow light slants through trees
Ravens call out, then all is quiet except for the chickadees
The forest is hushed so that a leaf dropping crashes
In the tinder dry waiting for the rains that will come
Quenching this day away to satisfy this parched earth
I call my dog and we meander on home, stopping
At will to admire a stick, a branch, a leaf, a fallen tree
Caught in the fork of another tree, still leafy but dying,
Nourishment for the living in the circle of life — September.
