Good Bye, Good Weather

This time last night, 'twas horizontal snow

And I could not see 'crost the street for it.

Today it's simply wind. I watch it blow

From safe inside where I shiver and sit,

(The vestiges of illness plague me still)

Behind a keyboard with a cup of tea;

I pretty sure this week is what will kill

Our Indian Summer. How long will it be

Ere just one layer of clothes will sure suffice

For bike commuting? How long till my skin

Can bare before the elements? Soon ice

Will force me to slow down; I'll pedal in

At half the speed to work, in darkness, long

Before dawn's chorus warms up its first song.

Lines On Seeing My Friend Play With Her Son

O Parker, soon enough school bells will toll

For you; this is your final Fall to be

Carefree with Mom, and as these last days roll

Of lovely weather, it's so good to see

The two of you at play out on the path

On this fine day, and marvel how you've grown!

It won't be long until spelling and math

Must occupy you. All of us have known

That toil, except for you. Your ignorance

Of what awaits you is perfect and clear

While you and your orange bike ride down where once

Bare pastures stood, your mother jogging near.

Change overtakes us all. Meanwhile, enjoy

This perfect day, you silly, lovely boy.

In Which I Cheerlead Some Last Minute Procreation

Boxelder bugs, you must be frantic to

Begin another generation, for

Quite suddenly, I'm seeing more of you

Than I can count, in my front yard. The score

Is like this: winter's coming. Time, it runs

Out swiftly for you, little ones; a freeze

Could happen any day now, so the ones

Most near to you will have to do. Now please

Get on with it. It would not be the same

Without you when the summer's back, my friends.

As things go now, you're pushing it; your claim

To make a legacy runs thin, soon ends.

If I don't see you busy making eggs

I guess I'm gonna have to tear some legs.

Morning Sonnet: A Moonlit Commute

The sun's not even reddening the east;
It's dark, but there is moonlight, so I can
See what's ahead somewhat, be it small beast
Or bungie cord in my path, or a man
In shadows and dark clothes, walking his pet
(His ipod means he still can't hear my bell,
So he's the greatest hazard) -- though I get
The Greenway to myself, mostly. The smell
Of rotting leaves, the tick of them in wind
That still is warm and gentle, my escort.
Soon I'll be struggling to stay disciplined
Enough to fight it, and the snow, contort
My face into a grimace, pedaling,
But now I just enjoy. It's long 'til spring.

November

The trees are naked in November sun,
Shed leaves are dry and clatter through the street;
Cool browns, dull greys, some golds but only one
Bright hue relieves the muted palette. Sweet,
The year is ending. Dormancy prevails.
Yet deep inside each thing is closely held
That which against all chills' attacking fails.
Not death but strength tones down the colors. Quelled,
Then, should be any talk of loss, ennui
Or sadness. Beauty sometimes takes on stark,
Surprising forms if one has eyes to see.
It's there throughout these days, e'en in the dark.
Take time today; go outside and admire
The bold tenacity that guards the fire.

In Which I Take My Last Road Trip Over The Range

The road will likely close soon for the year,

Wyoming 130 across the Range

Called Snowy, and it will do so, I fear

Before I may return to it. So strange

Today to see the aspens' hues in gold

And snow accumulated on the ground.

This last trip's memories will have to hold

Me till next spring. I rolled my windows down

Despite the cold, to let in those last smells

For my and Molly's pleasure, let my eyes

Go all unshaded, killed the radio. Spells

Of purest bliss would take me. Such good-byes

Are for all of the senses. But hellos

Await me, too, ahead, in winter's snows.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Long To Be Outdoors All The Time In Autumn

It cannot be the smell of slow, cold death,
That drives me e'er outdoors this time of year
To exercise and draw in one deep breath
And then another, can it? Yet I fear
Sometimes that my deep love of Fall's just that:
A love affair with all that does decay,
Dry up, fall off, freeze, rot and then go splat,
Or just detach and gently blow away.
But summer's sun pins me down like a bug,
It burns my bare skin, gives me headaches, brings
Unwanted gawkers out who'll see me. Ugh.
Now as it wanes I think not of those things,
Just climb aboard my bike, relish the chill
And see how quickly I can climb that hill.

In Which The Seasons Change Very Swiftly

Just yesterday I wrote of the approach
Of Autumn, felt and seen by many signs.
I missed it once again; winter doth broach
Our talk already as the month declines.
Today's the equinox if one believes
The calendar, but, in Wyoming, learn:
Already we have snow. I'm sure the leaves
Would have been pretty if allowed to turn,
Likewise, the crabapples that I've watched grow
In my backyard might have made lovely jam
Had they a chance to ripen. But I know
Such hopes are most quixotic, as I am
Each April when I dream of such. Alas!
How swiftly those Fall minutes seem to pass!

In Which I Feel The Approach Of A New Season

The leaves, still green, could have blown off the trees

Today, instead of twisting to point out

The wind's direction. We've not had a freeze

As yet, to make my neighbors rush about

And cover their tomatoes, but, this week,

When I get on my bike, the sky's still dark,

For that first morning ride to work. Soon bleak

And cold this trip will be, lonely and stark --

Already my hands need a pair of gloves.

But for right now, the grasshoppers, my friends

Still bask in afternoon heat, but my loves

Grow sluggish, and more of them meet their ends

'Neath walking feet and skates and, yes, bike tires.

And with them soon the summer, too, expires.

In Which I Have Mixed Feelings That I No Longer Go "Back To School"

September means they're back out on the streets,

School buses lumber back to school. It's fall:

A season's ended. Something each child meets

Is this fate: playtime's over. I recall

A gladness when this time would roll around,

For school was something I always did well,

Though fellow students always did confound

Me and my efforts. Often it was hell.

Each kid feels singled out as somehow wrong,

Not knowing all feel wrong and most just watch

The crowd for cues, and follow the most strong,

Just waiting for that mistimed step or botch

Of ritual to signal who is ripe

To fall. And yes, I was the falling type.