As night fell, a curtain of rain swept
through the woods, hurling the maples’ gold
to the ground, except for a token few,
the bravest. And of course the russet oaks
held on. They’ll endure nearly ‘til winter.
The green on the forest floor was gone, too,
tucked in against the sudden cold beneath
the deep quilt of fallen leaves. As I peered
at this stark new scene I thought to myself
that at least I would now be able to see
the squirrels leaping, the turkeys and deer
ambling up the hill from the field below.
And hardly had the thought written itself
across my mind when a buck appeared,
large, and sporting an impressive rack,
slowly ascending the western slope
as if he owned it. Now the serious side
of autumn has begun. Act two.