Sister Poetry

September sun is warm on my face.⠀
The light breeze barely shifts the leaves⠀
on the young maple nearby.⠀
Last of the goldfinches call and flit overhead.⠀
Crickets in shared corners call out their Vesper Songs.⠀
Blue sky is like a protecting cloak⠀
Fringed with lacy clouds at intervals.⠀
There is a certain hushed sensation⠀
Enveloping drying cattails and trees with sap diminishing.⠀
On occasion one hears the loud croak of a bullfrog on the pond,⠀
Pond-rippling happily before it is too late.⠀
All this I frame and hold together⠀
Lest it slip away and I forget the blessing of Autumn.