A Murder of Crows Argue

 A flat harsh sun shines--

Is it an omen today?

What significance?

Everything seems brown;

Forsythia has no more leaves.

Fall is here at last.

Collette chews her cud

Staring into empty space;

Then she blows some snot.

Roosters keep crowing;

What agitation have they

This bright morning?

Even dead leaves glow

When the sun is shining through--

Illumination.

Tree has turned russet;

A murder of crows argue;

Cars zip past swiftly.

Glen is dappled brown

With dead leaves and sunshine--

Fall morning pastel.

Thoughts of election

Have melted into the woods,

Subdued by the trees.