Grazing, grabbing. The last bit of sun.
Before the winter dark.
Aren't always on cars.
Sometimes on walls, or in minds. You?
Is the essence of quiet.
Except for the sound of me, as I walk by.
Like all good survivors.
Remind me of heat, and bugs.
Two things to wait another year for.
Fall brings a chill, and a crispness. Everything crackles.
We wait for the sky to decide when to drool again.
Small, tight, coolly has it made.
Always has been my single favorite shade.
Seems complicated but is less that.
Than subtle. Like life, no?
Falls eternal. Every year about this time.
As winter death approaches.
If you have an exoskeleton.
Then every day is forever.
Tell us the story of tomorrow.
And of yesterday.
To keep it hopping.
Revisiting the quiet, eyeless pods.
Which nevertheless are quite aware.
By the vegetable intelligence.
Toward the light, toward life, toward you perhaps.
A leap too far ends in.
The permanence of sleep.