The fading season —
                            when all the trees have darkened
                            but before the snow —
                            I build a fire in the grate
                            and find that unfinished book.

 

                                    The new morning chill
                                    draws me to the coffee pot.
                                    The fire still has warmth.
                                    Today’s sky is bright and clear,
                                    best spent walking the canyon.

 

                                            A fresh breeze picks up.
                                            Fallen leaves drift in the current
                                            like fishing boats
                                            heading out to fill their nets.
                                            They sail past the green heron.

 

                                                    The November night
                                                    dark and calm — not yet freezing.
                                                    The Leonids pass
                                                    flashing and fading in streaks
                                                    of yellow among the stars.