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Friday, September 18, 2020


 The nut brown scent of fallen leaves, scattered on the ground like nature's Legos, crunching every step you take

Blood-tipped spears of staghorn sumac
dripping each dawn's daily dew, then rustling their cryptic warnings come the warmer afternoons.

Shortened sun strokes painted on the land, with ever lengthened shadows seeming way too close at hand.

Autumn is no respecter of personal space and crowds in all around.

If not for passing migrant birds and siding signs of color I might feel bereft.

However, thanks to being out as much as work and society will allow I am doing all right, if only barely. 

Hope you are too.

Photo captions, as Blogger seems to have removed that option:

1) Lincoln's Sparrow, a happy find in the barnyard yesterday

2) Staghorn Sumac

3) Corn harvest

4) Contrast

5) Flaunting

6) Suspended...leaves in a spider web.


Terry and Linda said...

Beautiful! Just beautiful!

threecollie said...

Thank you, dear Linda

Cathy said...

Poetry Marianne . . . . I'm wandering back in for another journey of the heart as we float down the river of time.