Just Biding Its Time

It's December first;

The twelfth month is called the tenth;

A calendar trick.













Brown light on bushes;
Forsythia's yellow--gone,
To join the brown leaves.

Yesterday's rain fall--

Today's turbulent rushing--

Liquid persistence.

Suspended in space

Brown leaves float on the water,

Just biding their time.

He's walking slowly;

Full of his thoughts and feelings--

Just like me, I guess.

Nestled in the crotch

Of the slender triplet trees:

Pine needles and leaves.

Barely visible

Decrepit stone wall stretches

To places unknown.

Underneath this mound

Lies a former living space--

Graveyard for a house.