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Maples flash yellow, dogwoods bright red, sweet-gums blaze orange around a single oak, holding on to its recalcitrant green deep into fall. * A scarlet blur on the gravel driveway: a woodpecker cracks an acorn against a stone, head-crest waving like a tulip mounted on a jack-hammer. * After rain dries, the shadows of leaves star the white cement, some stenciled in sharp tannic imprints, others blurred in charcoal swaths: ghost leaves. * October moon in a pine. Its needles vein the Sea of Serenity. Cicadas whine in the darkness: pulse, stop, pulse, an Om for insects, feeling their first cold wind. * black leaves fall from a bare tree, in secret sequence they veer and rise until the next tree is alive with the yacking of migrating grackles.
Peter Blair’s collections of poetry include Farang (Autumn House, 2010). He lives in Charlotte, North Carolina.
Copyright 2021 Peter Blair