Sunday, October 14, 2012


The sky is the cleanest blue
that only comes between seasons
for a moment in time
feeling as clean as a baby's breath
smooth as lambskin
and crisp as a crease in Italian cotton.

The Sugar Maples' color
gives new meaning to the word
when it does.

The air is fresher now
as light shifts
night sneaks in sooner
logs are stacked
and out moves in.

This morning
the mist creates a stage set
in tones of black and light
layered oak stenciled near, far
and mid-ground.

The golden acorns
weigh tree and rain on the roof
and once on my head
making a lump
as big as an acorn.