The View and the Words

Not as in spring when flowers, pulled upward,
fill the yard, cherries spilling without thrift
In an October morning, the hillside
having spooned with a cold night or two,
begins to shed her green cloaking, slowly
stored sunlight bursting out all red and gold
flaming against the pthalo pines and clear sky.
the sap green vanishes
in one frost, maybe two
with sudden glad review of summer spent
the green of spring stowed back safe
to rise again from sleeping roots in May
Now teased by wind, bright leaves chatter goodbyes
skittering frogs, piling at fences
while winter prayerful bides in grey again.

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