A chilly gray wind
Sweeps across the sleep land;
A far deer grazes.

Two crows in the field
Stand solitary and still,
Then flop up and up.

Stream ripples onward
Swollen by yesterday's rain,
Rushing against time.

Hiding in the brush
The forgotten football lies
Now falling apart.

Suddenly there's no wind;
Dead leaves lie still on the road,
Then trees start to shake.

The moss green tree stump
Stands in the midst of dead leaves,
A sign post of life.




An orange beacon
Stands at the bend of the road;
One last burst of light.

Dead leaves clog the stream;
Still the water trickles through--
A matter of time.