Late September (first back at home)

A swath of gossamer veils the valley.

In the air, the whinnied evidence I’ve been listening for

And the hint of lathered leather wafting from what’s hidden in the trees.

Already, the morning sky prematurely October blues as bushes catch fire

And roses spill final petals in a pinked carpet for the arrival of the long-anticipated time.

But leaves remain uncoaxed, coated still in summer’s stubborn shade.

Patience.  Though we can taste it.

Reaching, I strip one tertiary branch to prime the pump.