Welcoming Autumn

Rutabaga

Fingers stumble through the ground
numb in this race
the anodized silver white tub
sings as it fills
the sun is already rubbed out by the clouds
we still can count the inches until it dips
behind the mountains

The night will come,
and we will wake to a blanket
crystalline.
As the long tendrils of dawn
reach across the prairie
kisses of light and warmth
the cover vanishes
leaving only the leaves
ice burned the color of decay.

 

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