Wet swish of the cars
Under blanket of gray sky;
Rain has come and gone.
Small parade of drops
Hanging from the slim branch,
Each its own portal.
He's just one day old
Sucking from his mother's tit.
New life in Autumn.
Is it really now,
Or have they stepped from the past
Into this gray day?
This bench is empty;
Old flower pot sits on it
Without any blooms.
Some misty sprinkles
Remind me that the clouds rule.
I'm at their mercy.
Green ferns from dead stump;
New sprouts spring from the tree's crotch.
Life has no season.
High on the dead tree:
Silhouetted shelf fungi.
How did they climb there?
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