Autumn Notes – Montana
I know a thousand shades of green –
Here I learn a thousand browns
Wind feels out the shape of my face
like a blind man making a new friend
Wind blows brown dust up along
a dry road, turns and blows it back.
However high the sky
its shadow in the pond’s as deep
The leaves on the dry trees
rattle like the ghosts of gourds
Far off throaty rusty sound
Birds, yes, but no longer birdsong
Gray-brown road between
gray-green hills
Wind rocking thoughtfully
on the porch swing
Winter now. While I put on my
heavy coat, the trees strip bare.
5 o’clock where does the mountain
snow end and clouds begin?
by Nils Peterson
and here