something i wrote last weekend in Prescott. remembering that sacred space today, here in the valley, where it will soon be 105 in the shade…
That magic mountain minute
when fall comes whispering around the edges.
Chased up from the valley
by unrelenting sun, and shimmering waves of summer,
the cool comes creeping
and waits for an invitation.
The earth sighs relief, and settles to rest,
answering but a short, simple ‘yes.’
Fall comes singing, and rolls back the green,
and draws up the reds from places unseen.