Corn yellows in fields
and the smell of burning wood
fills the air. Woolly caterpillars
inch their way across trails, and leaves
the color of bark fall and land
in my dying marigolds.
Summer retreats to the other hemisphere,
yet she fills the day with a sun so bright
and with such abundant warmth that we almost forget
she's really gone, till night comes
sooner and cooler.
The turning of seasons
takes place between a chorus of crickets
and the springing leap of grasshoppers.