Waiting for Winter I am parked in my blue mesh chair Its legs balanced on four rocks I Collected from scree fields across the northern Rockies Wrapped in a thick robe and blanket and fleecy pink hat I gaze at the inky dome above A streetlight checkers through elm leaves like pinholes in a metal lantern The whir of tires on the interstate rises as Engines hum and pull around east the curve of the north hills I peer west A house light blinds me to the stars But the courtyard poplar towers above and flutters its last yellow leaves Like fingers waving goodbye A screen door slams I bring coffee to my lips and wait.
Collision Mists hang thick over the valley Blotting the sun. Damp creeps across empty lots Where patches of rotten snow soak up morning raindrops Splashing on leaf piles raked up hours before the blizzard when Fall crashed into winter. Road spray puddles on highway shoulders and Sodden doves nearly collide into power lines. I watch with cold toes through the kitchen window.
Wow. That was beautiful.