Rainfall builds a rhythm on a
only days after the barn has been filled,
ripe autumn promise hanging,
like languid inspiration, in the air.
It is not so long since the sharp, yellow
quince, heavily perfumed, tugged limbs
toward the ground;
the fig's smooth white bark and fragrant
leaves flirted with dreams of its own
sweet, seeded flesh;
and striking, stippled-pink dahlias and flowing white jasmine coaxed songbirds
to perch and explore the shady undersides
of a glossy stand of azaleas.
Now--long after the delight of spring
flowers, their pale, delicate tendrils
fences, trees, and walls-- jays argue
over the last, fat blackberries hidden
in the hedges,
and the tenderness of dandelions and willows
gives way to earthy hues of nettles and oak.
(c) 2014, by Hannah Six