Tuesday Poem

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