A gray Labor Day;
Not even bees are working
Under the thick sky.
Cobweb on window
But not a sign of spider;
She's yesterday's news.
Sun breaks through the clouds
And the insects get busy
All around my face.
Blue before the brown:
Chicory rules the road for now.
Still the dead leaves fall.
Black Eyed Susans smile
Demurely by the road side;
They keep their secret.
Patches of sunlight
Dapple the darkened forest,
Then just fade away.
Puddle reflects sky
(Or does sky reflect puddle?)
It's so confusing.
An ear on the hill
Cups its soft, blank mushroom flesh
White and unhearing.
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