Hail, lady Moon, when autumn creeps in, wet,
and drip-drop-dripping on ferns turned yellow.
Red squirrel runs errands, starting to fret
that nights are colder, and days more mellow:
he plants the oaks of the next century,
and prays to you that his younglings survive.
Ants march homeward as ordered infantry:
their hidden halls must keep their kind alive
when streambeds long dry refill with water,
when leaves beging tumbling from the beech.
Harvest hugs the world: all life needs fodder
as summertime slowly slips out of reach.
Crickets transpose and mute their constant song,
knowing frost must overtake them, ere long.
Thanks to for the transposition idea from his Gossamer Commons piece in the webcomics telethon. It set the right tone for what I’m hearing these days, and feeling…