This season is gone,
trailing its pungent remains
 
leaf rot, mushrooms uneaten fruit
decaying back to their elements,
 
covering the deep black realm
of water, seeds, roots,
unseen, fertile, mysterious.
 
I will remember this when winter
sinks its talons into the landscape.
 
Summer’s final relenting breath.
Autumn with a last raucous fling.
Our desire to see out another season
 
it is the way with every living thing
in this passing, fading pasture.