The time between A wet fall has stretched out the season. Even still there are trees with deep green leaves alongside trees with leaves that have long since departed alongside leaves in their autumn glory: bright brilliant hues or orange, gold, and deep red. Often this happens for…
There is no way there are golden retrievers in the Amazon.
I watch my wooly golden girl on humid days
as she walks slowly, heavily, even her whiskers droop.
She gives me a mournful look as we get back to the house
clearly asking if we can move further north than our Minnesota home.
The kind that pounds the ground and splashes up
caking low leaves in mud
spattering dirt into mosaic designs on higher foliage.
Five minutes later…
Clear delicious air, the kind that only comes after rain.
Wind, even blue sky amidst the dazzling clouds.
This is a joyful poem.
I was going to write about poppies.
About the way they shoot skyward
then burst into color so rich
that you feel it as well as see it.
It was to be a simple poem
about being in the moment.
The poppies a lovely example
of something glorious and fleeting,
as their paper thin petals
last but a few days.