And now it is October in these mountains.
Here and there, a clutch of leaves
keeps glowing burnished gold.
Most blew down in that first storm,
crumpled browner on the earth
than earth that swallows cold, dry bones.
Yet somehow, and who knows just how,
those dead leaves still smell faintly of the spring.
My flowers all were frosted
early in September, drooped and done –
the oxeye daisies, marigolds,
the last of the blue columbines.
Then just today,
one cinquefoil blossomed,
mimicking the autumn leaves,
heart-shaped petals, orange-outlined,
yellow sloping to the center,
bright and beaming, crimson starburst.
I poured water, sat beside it,
patient in the autumn sunlight.
Sitting so, I’ve been for hours,
watching as it lives,
and waiting,
for this night there will be snow.
By Lynda La Rocca, Twin Lakes, CO
