Mid September

 

I walk away

from the glare of

safety lights

into the blue twilight

of mid September dawn

In the near dark

I play a game

What tree

do I see?

I know

oak, basswood, ash

by their shapes

Beneath familiar

pine trees

a scattering of cones

some palm sized

some no bigger

than a thumbnail

In the tall grass

an orchestra of insects strums

For a moment

the wind breathes

strong enough

to drown out

engines in the distance

The sky is lightening

to paler blue

with one star

winking

among

the clouds