The back porch is cool this morning
with only the expectation of early fall.
The grass seems glazed with rain
although it’s only the morning sprinkler
forestalling the inevitable death cycle
when the grass will brown and
fall’s leaves will cover their hidden demise.
Yet still the cool promise of fall will arrive
for a short time before it heralds winter’s conquest.
For now, the air is stilled crisp,
filled with the scent of windfall apples
ripening into hard cider on the ground
for the benefit of nether critters.
The tiniest of flying creatures sit high
on the thinnest branches awaiting the sun.
From their height they can see the glow as the sun appears,
just a slight ribbon of light brings forth their songs.
They will not sing long. As the brightness glides
across the morning sky, their voices will quiet
so they can hide from those who would take
advantage of their youthful naivete.