Two years ago, in mid-October, the stream
that flows from the last spillway down to the lake
was lined with a vast heap of autumn wildflowers
so artfully arranged that the sight made you stop
and stare at the textures and movement and colors
as if you were standing in a great ancient gallery
before a masterpiece that took up a whole section
of wall, only this gallery was made of earth and sky.
The next year, some no-doubt educated and informed
person with authority over this piece of county land
ordered it all mowed down, turned to grass.
I have a little card on my bulletin board that says
“Look around you. Appreciate what you see.
Nothing will be the same in a year.”