October

Splashes of color
Like improvisasional chords
Rolling off the hillsides
In playful thunder.

The wind threads through my fingers
Snapping the flags awake
Reminding them of their pride.

It strips the petals from the flowers
Leaving one last lonely
Rose to remember
Summer's sighs.

A birch crowns me with gold
Sliding out of my hair and down
To collect in eddies
Before they wash away.

The sky is close and soft
Like a child's favorite blanket
Ripped and bunched
And much loved.

The bashful sun plays hide and peep
And smiles in patches, playing favorites
Dropping her hair through thunderheads
While crying crystal tears of joy.

The crows gather in pairs
To gossip over stone fences
"Look how the squirrels scurry!
It'll be a cold, cold winter."


--Megan Morris, meikundayo@yahoo.com