Fall + Overgrown

Tiny finches scatter as summer undenounced left with yesterday’s sunset. Now the mornings are gray, leaves will fall any day now. There’s quieter and day rises with me. A nicety not to be thrown into the heat of a day, a comforting stability around our routine actions that we forgot when they didn’t align with the day. Last fall the front tree appeared exactly full. The shape could have filled the area left for an image in the dictionary. Trimming was omitted and naturally the front tree took the opportunity to overgrow. The branches reaching through the barrier of the porch, rubbing the paint off the columns whispering “remember from which once you came”.

With the lick of a breeze
finches scatter from trees
counting seconds until the color leaves
the leaves

Reaching braches a summer grown
rub the paint of porch beams shows
a raw wood grain and the pulls the bow
to moan on wood and wood unknown