Getting Oriented

Barb Fall 2012 426

Time carries on with the transformation,
Telling me change is a dimming light, constant by minutes a day.
Last week’s green is today gold, what was gold is brown.
Those brown things on the ground just wither away.
The air cools, the wind blows.
Step outside where a slapping chill remains as the cold front passes.
There’s that.
Or there’s the rainbow to the west and then to the north:
Eastward marching showers use fleeting paints on the cumulus sky.
The sun, crouching in the south works past the eaves to warm the room.
No matter how I orient, it’s autumn in my gaze.


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