I gaze to the paling rosy sky
And hear the rustle of the drying leaves,
The calls of the downy woodpeckers,
The joining together of the bird guilds.
I delight in the song of the pine warbler
And the chirp of the crickets
Both calling Fall to spread herself
Upon the land
In hues of golds, red, and orange.
I listen for the last of the cicada song
On the branches of trees
Just beginning to release their leaves.
I wait for the morning glories to open
Right with daybreak.
I watch them close
Their job well done at sunset.
I live for the light.