Quiet beauty, Fall, Her dying, preparing;
crops gold to grey; waiting, until plowed, then
laying open, offering naked decay to Winter’s,
grace, newly born icy layers, crystal lace;

hand n hand, walking their autumn peace,
witnessing goldenrod still yellow bright while
milkweed cups have dried its caterpillar drink,
cattails sink, succumbing to cottony deaths.

a stolen kiss, among creaking hickories ignites,
stirring smoldering embers, awaiting familiar fires;
gathering wood slowly, splitting cords melodically,
hearing Her whisper softly from empty land,

are the bones ever prepared for wintering ~