Progression

The green rain
the green breeze
the green smoke
of expiring trees.

Ferns flee to yellow,
cinnamon soon to fall;
forest floor is dressed in gold
acorns pearl our stroll.

Faintly sweet the souring air
fading blades of bleaching sun
flittering flight of the bloom-drunk monarch
on its fleet journey home.

Crumpled decline of the seed-heads to soil
slow-wagging walk of the fragile eft
lifting the onions, papered, from earth
inching the garlic to rest in its bed.

Into the air a wild earth-fertile odor.
Into our cells, bulging nectar of apple.
Into deep storage the memory of summer.
Into cocoon of the self for winter.

© Sandy Long