FALL
How we crave to celebrate
each small accomplishment,
raise a glass to the outside gods
who let the music happen.
The sycamores want to turn
yellow, orange and brown,
let their water run backwards
into the creek, get naked and bare
gray limbs against the green,
the blue and white cumulus,
after rain. Come Thanksgiving,
each day becomes a marvel
in the making, the prolonged
undressing with eyes wide
beyond beliefs, beyond self
to find meek and humble
comforting, to be absorbed
by a landscape changing.
.25" more yesterday a.m. 3-day total: 1.31" - just right!