Green going yellow
rusty shades of brown
on the ground
The waterfall is a dry gray rock soft with moss the same color
The creek now thirsty mud.
Little brown brushes growing on a log.
The bushes are not so thick, the deer trails more visible.
Gangs of mosquitos follow me.
Branches I would have bounced on, crack loud and sharp under the weight of my boots.
The ringing chain of bluejays talking
beaded by a ravens caw.
Multiflora Rose now berries for the birds
Asters in every shade of purple
I take a nest of seeds velcroed to my leggings back to the farm with me.
love