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.

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