In the woods
the light of fall penetrates
as the leaf canopy opens
to the sun.
In the old orchard, the sharing of the pears,
gravity being generous to the deer.
Inside on the kitchen table
the last roses clipped before the first frost.

They’ve all turned,
half down, half still hanging on.
We’ve peaked,
and it’s been gorgeous,
intense and varied.
Whatever unknown mix it takes of sun and rain and chill,
this year has come round right.

It continues to be a splendid season for leaves.
Except, the walnuts have mostly dropped theirs.
But all along the row,
half still attached to the branches and
half on the ground.

The green husks fire off the mower blades
like little mortar shells.

While appreciating the sweep of fall below the hay field
and up the south-facing ridge,

there’s a funny blob on the grass, way over on the right.

Oh, yes, it is: the ever elusive ground hog,
seeking presumably additional ground to hog.

Perched in plain sight
if your eyes are sharper than mine.