Leaf swirling, dancing across the bright blue
above the first pools of the early rain
in the fish-less river below,
The wind, again, cool now, smelling of wet dirt and drying leaves
next week’s storm
not yet even a thought here
along the moss on the old log
next to the trail.
Evening comes sooner, and dawn later—
Orion coming again in morning sky—
first coffee of the day now in darkness; inside by the fire—
cat on warm lap, after the frosty hunt
in the grass next to the now-empty tomato vines
near the gold and orange of the maple.
Filled jars line the shelves in the garage,
squash and potatoes drying on the floor,
tomatoes overflowing on the dining room floor, slowly
Folding socks, I also put away hiking shorts, to the back of the drawer
and pull out the stocking cap and long johns, just in case,
and go looking in the hall closet for that coat,
the one with Gortex, the hood, and gloves
in the pockets.