Fall's End

Its fur waterlogged and rumpled, 

The squirrel is a fragment of the ever-present rain clouds

Darting across the ground, gathering provisions,

A frantic prayer for the dying fall. 

While we slept, a snarling cold clenched its fist

Conjuring snow from the falling rain,

A dress rehearsal for Winter’s unforgiving tenure

Morning revealed the brown landscape shrouded, 

A soundless, claustrophobic beauty.

She lingered as the morning stretched out,

Basking in the no school laughter of children,

Grinning at the sliding, white-knuckled drivers

Till the clouds cracked open to release the sky.

A moment as still as the space between breaths

Reflected flawlessly in the water of the cove, 

A gray world suspended in a malachite embrace.