Autumn

Higher than sandhill cranes
turned south, we fly
one last time this season

north. Wayward breezes
lift us. Outlined yellow
each creek, each draw.

Drier hillsides
brush ruddy tundra.
Beyond the Yukon,

past the tors
no storm has scoured away,
the sky turns

gray angora.
We bank and soar
back toward home

skim down on the float pond
filled with marvels we've been given
to see, suffused with grace.

Hard frost tonight—
the world
changes its mind.

Copyright © 2005 Peggy Shumaker All rights reserved
from Blaze
Red Hen Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission