from river banks.
The sky is sharp
and frosted blue.
Green arms of meadow stretch out
and wait the rain.
A cold sun paints
the golden trees.
This is a mellowing time.
Forty years have
left their furrow
across skin's soil.
Swallows have flown and Summer's
an idle dream.
While Winter waits
shuffling through leaves.
Dark rooks pay their obeisance
to scarecrow gods.
Shredding straw heads
and turnip brains.
The wind is softly lifting
into a breeze.
I close my eyes
almost in prayer.