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Cusp of Autumn

Pat Tyrer

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.

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