Spun gold filigree*
through an oaken loom welcomes
brisk late-Fall walker!
*(My spelling dictionary – mit syllable-breakage – writes “filigree” first with the “I” option. I go with i. The 6:30ish sunrise slants its rays through the spare – just changing patterns – Live Oak fingers, shattering into prismic shards the golden morning light.)
Dilatory morn
Monday gone gray with moist chill:
would welcome some rain!
pebble-paved low clouds
crawl no’reast across my sky
even eagles quiet
impatient wind wants
soon-november gusts to scare
peppers to ripen
‘Dry cool week’ comin’ –
fools think Fall finally here!
Summer will be back!
Soon Summer edges
nearer its funeral pyre:
and old and dear friend!
falling factories
leave rorschach blots on the ground:
naked limbs reprove.
I will gather these sad leaves
and have happy spring compost!
Wind-carved and up-tossed
ivory and gray studies
of Winter’s promise.
Tomatoes, eggplants
and hot peppers got new pots.
Still new dirt to turn.
So, Fall fell today
and we must endure the chill:
Eighty-nine degrees!
richwrapper 